


It’s Bound to Rain Sooner or Later

by WaitingForMy



Series: Andy & B’s Stupid Newsies RPs [4]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bisexual Racetrack Higgins, Burn about as slow as a nuclear bomb, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Crossdressing, Elmer is T H I R S T Y, Friends to Lovers, Gender or Sex Swap, Head over to Theories of Conflict for that, Homophobic Language, Horny Teenagers, Multi, Period-Typical Attitudes Towards Consent, Race has no chill, The newsies need sex ed, The siblings that write Newsies trash together stay together, There’s sex but it’s not explicit, This is an ongoing RP, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, not slow burn, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: When her life becomes a nightmare, sixteen-year-old Eleanor Kasprzak learns a valuable lesson that shapes her life:Hiding in plain sight would be a lot easier without tits.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Elmer (Newsies), Elmer (Newsies)/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Andy & B’s Stupid Newsies RPs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517465
Comments: 75
Kudos: 112





	1. The Boith of a Newsie

**Author's Note:**

> We’re back on our bullshit.
> 
> This was supposed to just be a short intro chapter, but oops, we have 2,000 words.

_March 12th, 1899._

Eleanor thought dimly that she should have put on a coat, as the freezing cold air burned her lungs and whipped at her skin. In her defense, she hadn’t much of a choice but to go immediately, hesitating only long enough to put on her house slippers—a cruelly apt name, she thought, as she slipped on the ice for the second time and skidded into a passerby.

“Hey, watch it, crazy!” said passerby snapped, and she whimpered lightly, pushing herself off him. The hem of her skirt was soaked through and sticking to her legs, and she nearly tripped right away as she took back off in a run, rounding the corner. She wasn’t even sure where she was running _to_. She barely had a head start as it was, so she certainly hadn’t had time to stop and actually think. She careened around another corner, this time bouncing off a lamppost, and her feet slipped out from under her again, sending her crashing into a snowbank. A furious shout of, “Bitch, you can’t run forever!” scared her back to her feet in an instant, but the man was right; she couldn’t run forever. She needed to hide.

She looked around frantically for a moment and spotted a church at the end of the street—safety, sanctuary, even if just for a moment. She took off towards it at a run.

The shouting behind her got louder as her pursuer neared, and she pushed herself to go a little faster until she crashed into the church doors. She yanked one of them open and slammed it behind her, gasping for breath and realizing for the first time that there were cold tears on her cheeks. She turned to run farther into the church and ended up running straight into a nun. She let out a startled scream.

“Goodness!” the nun cried out, just as surprised as Eleanor, nearly dropping the Bible in her hands.

Eleanor clutched at the nun’s tunic. “Please help me,” she sobbed. “He’s coming.”

“Who—?” The nun began to ask, but the question fell short as she got a better look at Eleanor’s appearance. “Come with me,” she said instead, putting an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and ushering her down the hall. She spoke with a thick accent that Eleanor couldn’t quite place, through the sharp haze of panic. Irish, maybe?

Eleanor flinched and turned her head when she heard shouting in the street outside the church. “Please, he’s coming for me!” she cried, trying to pick up the pace but stumbling, exhausted. “He’s gonna hurt me.”

“Quickly now,” the nun urged her on, deeper into the church, but stopped as another nun came out into the hall. “This young lady needs our help,” the first nun explained hurriedly, with her hands on Eleanor’s shoulders. “Go quickly and tell the others, there’s a man looking for her, and she is not to be found.”

The other nun nodded and hurried off in the direction they had come from as the first nun guided Eleanor on down the hallway. They came to another set of heavy doors, not unlike those that led outside, and the nun pushed them open before pushing Eleanor through. On the other side, Eleanor found herself in what appeared to be a living space for the nuns—a humble kitchen, with a long dining table on one side and another hallway going off next to it, presumably leading towards bedrooms. The nun gestured for Eleanor to take a seat at the table.

“Tell me what happened, dear.”

Eleanor did not take a seat. “My dad sold me,” she said.

“He what?”

“Sold me!” Tears bubbled over onto her cheeks as she began to sob. “He’s in debt, so he fucking sold me!”

“Now, no need for that,” the nun clucked, pulling a handkerchief out of a pocket in her habit to offer to Eleanor.

Eleanor shook her head. “He’s going to hurt me, Sister. He said—”

“Your father?”

“No, the man he sold me to, he said—” She faltered again, unable to let the words out. She was too scared and disgusted. “He wants to do bad things to me, Sister.”

“Well, we’ll make sure he doesn’t find you,” the nun replied.

“How?” Eleanor asked tearfully. She didn’t want to hide in a church her whole life. She had no money to get away, and she doubted the nuns could provide that for her.

The nun was quiet for a second, thinking. “Well, if the girl he’s looking for doesn’t exist, he cannot find her.”

Now, Eleanor was even more confused. “What do you mean?”

“We can’t hide you here forever,” the nun said, affirming Eleanor’s concern. “But if we hide you in plain sight...”

“You want to change the way I look,” Eleanor said, finally understanding.

The nun nodded, turning to walk over to the kitchen counter and rummage in a drawer. “We’ll need to cut your hair, and find you some boys’ clothes, but it should be easily manageable.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened slightly at the prospect of pretending to be a _boy_ , but compared to her other options, it didn’t sound too bad. The man—she didn’t even know his name—had seen her, but not for long. Surely, he wouldn’t give a boy a second look. “Where will I go?”

The nun hummed to herself quietly, thinking. “The lodging house on Duane street.”

“Is that for boys?”

“Yes.” The nun turned back to face her, holding a pair of scissors now. “The paper boys live there.”

Eleanor swallowed hard. The prospect of pretending to be a boy was intimidating. The prospect of pretending to be a boy while living with a bunch of boys sounded damn near impossible, but it was certainly better than the alternative.

“Come sit here,” the nun instructed her, walking to a chair at the table.

Eleanor numbly did as she was told.

The day had started out so normal. 

“This won’t be forever,” the nun assured her, settling a small towel around her shoulders, “but for now, we have to move quickly.”

“I know,” Eleanor said, her voice sounding uncharacteristically small. She wasn’t exactly known for being quiet.

Even though she knew it was just hair, and it would grow back, she started to quietly cry at the first _shhnik_ of the shears. It wasn’t really about her hair, of course. Now that she was sitting still, she had time to think about how her life had become such a nightmare.

The Kasprzaks had been a happy family, until Eleanor’s mother got sick, and then everything changed. Eleanor had no idea they were badly off until food stopped being put on the table, as all the money went towards making her mother better—more money than they had. After her mother died, it only got worse. That’s when her father, already in debt, started gambling money he didn’t have in hopes of winning some. It wasn’t until today, though, that she knew just how much trouble they were in. When Papa told her a gentleman was coming by before dinner, and she had best just sit quietly while they talked business, Eleanor thought nothing of it.

When the gentleman arrived, it was a whole other matter.

Turned out, Papa owed this man a lot of money and couldn’t pay it back. Eleanor listened from the kitchen in mounting horror as the man explained that he knew her father didn’t have any money, and he was there for collateral.

“I heard you’s got a daughter,” the man said, speaking with a thick New York drawl. “They say she’s fifteen or so, sorta pretty, got a smart mouth on her an’ never sits still.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened as she backed away from the door.

The man continued, “I like ‘em loud, but I’d love to see what that smart mouth can do besides talk.”

Eleanor lost her father’s response to the sound of her own stumbling footsteps as she crossed the kitchen, heading for the window. It hardly mattered what happened next, she didn’t want to be there to find out.

Unfortunately, the sound of the window closing alerted the man to her escape, and the chase that brought her to the church was on.

Judging by the surrounding quiet, he hadn’t seen her go into the church, so she was safe for the moment, but would a haircut and some new clothes really be enough to throw the man off her trail? Of course, it was surprisingly easy to lose things, and people, especially if you didn’t get a very good look at them in the first place. Eleanor once lost a hat by leaving it on the kitchen table. She just hoped that she would be as easily overlooked. 

“There,” the nun said with a final snip of the scissors. “That’s done. Now come, we must find you new clothes.” She opened a door off the side of the hallway and gestured for Eleanor to go inside. It appeared to be a storage room, with just a few boxes and trunks. The nun moved to one of the trunks and opened it, revealing it to be full of neatly folded clothing. “Donated by families that no longer need them,” she explained, pulling out some clothes that looked to be about Eleanor’s size. “Try these on,” she instructed, handing them over.

Eleanor accepted them, setting them to the side to take off her shirt and skirt. Only once she found herself in just her combination did she pause, frowning. “Sister, what about my...” She gestured vaguely to her chest.

The nun frowned in thought. “You’ll need to bind them down,” she said, and she stood up to leave the room. “Wait here a moment, I’ll be right back.”

In the meantime, Eleanor sifted through the pile of boys’ clothes the nun had provided. None of them quite looked like they went together, but she hardly cared. She pulled out a pair of brown pants, a greenish, lightly striped undershirt, and a checkered button-down that looked like they would be a good fit.

By the time she’d picked them out, the nun was back with an armful of bandages. “Hold your arms out,” she said, “so I can help you.”

Eleanor nodded, pulling her combination down to her waist. Never one to be shameful, it only occurred to her _after_ she exposed her breasts that maybe she wasn’t supposed to do that in front of a nun, but what did she know?

The nun seemed unfazed, though, as she began to wind the bandages around Eleanor‘s chest. It was tight, to the point of being a little uncomfortable. “Can you breathe alright?” she asked.

“Yes,” Eleanor replied, a little strained. It was going to take some getting used to, that was for sure.

“Good,” the nun said, securing the end of the bandage under Eleanor’s arm. “Now get dressed.”

Eleanor did as she was told, first finding a pair of long johns in the pile and putting that on, then donning the outfit she had chosen, along with a brown vest, a cap, and a coat to keep out the chill.

“Very well,” the nun nodded. “I’ll take you to the lodging house. We can leave by the back door.”

“Do I look like a boy?” Eleanor asked hopefully.

“Enough.” The nun nodded.

 _Enough_. Great.

They headed out the back, and Eleanor was more than a little glad to be in a coat, this time. She glanced around nervously, worried someone would take notice of the girl in boy’s clothing, but much to her relief, no one even afforded her a glance. It was working.

“Keep your head down and behave as the other boys do,” the nun instructed. “The less attention you draw to yourself, the better.”

“How do the other boys behave?”

She chuckled. “Loudly.”

Eleanor laughed a bit, as well. “I’m very loud, already...”

“And you’ll have to tell them you’re younger than you really are, to properly pass for a boy.”

“How old do I look?”

“I would say thirteen,” the nun suggested.

“Thirteen,” Eleanor repeated. That wasn’t _too_ far off. She was just nearing her sixteenth birthday.

The nun came to a stop as they reached the door of a large building that Eleanor assumed to be the lodging house.

“You can always come back to the church if you need us,” the nun assured her.

“Thank you, Sister.”

“Oh, I never asked, dear; what is your name?”

Eleanor smiled wanly. It couldn’t very well be her name, anymore. “Eleanor Kasprzak...”

The nun mirrored her expression. “Well...” She placed her hand over Eleanor’s temple and drew a small cross on her forehead with her thumb. “God be with you, Elmer.”


	2. Titties Out for Medda Larkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girls gotta stick together.

_March 30th, 1899._

After nearly three weeks selling papes, the morning bell barely woke Eleanor up, anymore. It was like that; some of the newsies woke instantly to the distant toll, while others—her bunkmate Albert, for instance—had to rely on more aggressive means.

“Countdown to Race,” Finch murmured sleepily.

“Five,” Smalls began.

“Four.” Jack.

“Three.” Mush.

Eleanor groaned, rolling over onto her stomach and covering her head with her pillow. “Two.”

“One,” Blink concluded.

Race appeared in the doorway with the pot and wooden spoon he kept under Jojo’s bottom bunk for some reason, banging the spoon against the bottom of the pot like his life depended on it. “Wakey wakey, boys!” he hollered.

The room filled with groans, and various things—pillows, shoes, a shirt—flew through the air towards Race. He squeaked and ducked, failing spectacularly to avoid the projectiles.

Eleanor chuckled, swinging her legs over the side of her bunk, accidentally kicking Albert in the head as he sat up, not apologizing.

“‘Ey, watch it!” Albert protested, smacking at her ankles.

She kicked at his head again, on purpose this time. “I’m trying to give you a black eye to get you some sympathy buyers!” she retorted.

Albert caught ahold of her ankle, and tugged, very nearly yanking her off her bunk. “Fuck off!”

Eleanor rolled over onto her stomach and swung her legs under, dropping onto Albert’s bed on her back, and Albert grabbed his pillow and pushed it over her face, gently smothering her. She flailed, laughing.

After a moment, Albert released his hold on the pillow and stood up, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. “Fuck, it’s too early for this.”

If Eleanor looked a little longer than a thirteen-year-old newsboy ought to have, nobody said anything. She stood up as well, grabbing some cleanish clothes out of her box by the wall and heading for the little clothes closet at the end of the hall. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and jammed it with the broken broom handle she had placed in there for that very reason. She couldn’t have any of the boys walking in on her changing clothes, after all, especially when she needed to rewrap her chest.

She untucked the loose end of the bandages and began to unwrap them slowly, hissing quietly as the rough fabric chafed against her raw skin. She took a deep breath in and out, letting her head fall back against the back wall. These few minutes each morning were the only times she could really, actually breathe.

She pulled on her pants first, then her socks and shoes. She combed her fingers through her hair. Then, last, she carefully wrapped the bandages back around her chest, tucking in the ends, and put on her shirts and vest. She headed back to the bunk room to put her night clothes back in her box. They could go one more night without washing, and the less time she spent washing her clothes, the more time she could spend making money. Kloppman’s lodging fee was reasonable, but a fee nonetheless.

“You ready, new kid?” Albert called over to her, slinging his empty paper bag up onto his shoulder.

“I’m not _that_ new!” Eleanor protested. It had already been three weeks, and ‘Elmer’ had meshed with the close-knit newsboys of lower Manhattan almost instantly. It was easier than she thought it would be. Not only were boys afforded a lot more freedom to be dumbasses, which was great fun, but many of the boys came from less-than-ideal backgrounds. They all had their quirks, so few questions were asked and even fewer answers given. 

“It’s an honorary title,” Crutchie teased, folding the blanket on his bunk.

“Yup,” Specs affirmed. “You’re stuck till we get someone else.”

“Yeah, I was ‘New Kid’ for nearly four months,” Blink complained.

Eleanor groaned, but she was smiling.

“A’right, let's go already!” Albert said. “We’re wastin’ daylight!”

“Who put you in charge?” Eleanor joked, popping her cap on her head and starting after him.

“Hey, Elmer,” Jack called from the end of the room by the window, beckoning her over.

She looked back at the other newsies for a moment before crossing to him. “Yeah, Jack?”

There was a look on his face that she couldn’t quite place as he gestured to her shirt. “Y’got’cher buttons wrong.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at her shirt, and so she had, leaving one side of her shirt bunched up and a small gap over her chest. “ _Oh_. Shit...” She grabbed the fabric, covering the gap.

“You, uh...you hurt, El?” Jack asked in a quietly suspicious tone as he gestured at Eleanor’s chest and the bandages that he must have seen.

She nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, I just—...” She looked down again, to where the front of her shirt was still clutched tightly in her fist.

Jack leveled a look at her that said loud and clear he didn’t believe her, but she just set her jaw and looked back at him defiantly, even though her heart was racing.

Jack stared right back for a moment, then focused his gaze past her. “You go on, Al. He’ll catch up.”

Albert shrugged, and continued on out as the room emptied.

Eleanor took a breath, as deep as she could with her chest wrapped. “Jack...”

He looked back at her expectantly.

She looked towards the door, making sure everyone else had gone, before turning back to him. “My name is Eleanor Kasprzak,” she said, “I’m sixteen, and I’m in big trouble if folks find out.”

Jack nodded slowly. “A’right then.”

“You won’t tell any of the other boys?”

He scoffed. “‘Course not. I take care ‘a my own, an you’s still one ‘a my boys, even if you,” he gestured vaguely at her, “ain’t a boy.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Jack.”

* * *

Although he’d rather drop dead than admit it, Albert always had a soft spot for the new kids that were so unfortunate as to fall into their midst; no one ever joined the newsboys of lower Manhattan due to happy circumstances. Elmer, as was frequently the case, came to them trailing in the wake of a nun from St. Paul’s and had immediately dumped such a pile of sass on Romeo as to earn a place of high regard in the eyes of Albert and the others. As much crap as they gave each other, Albert and Elmer actually got on like a house fire, always egging each other on in their antics. It was always good to have a partner in crime, especially when said partner in crime was a good liar with an angel baby face—easier to get away with things, that way. 

Albert watched in amusement as Elmer swindled another soft-hearted lady out of a nickel with a big smile and a wildly exaggerated headline. The kid was a natural.

“‘Kidnapped baby in Queens’, huh?” Albert smirked as Elmer came skipping back, wiggling the nickel smugly at him.

“Yup,” Elmer replied, with a goofy grin. “You should try it.”

Albert huffed, amused. “Try what—a bogus headline?”

“ _My_ bogus headlines,” Elmer clarified. “They’re better. Unless you think there’s another reason I’m gettin’ so many more sales than you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I ain’t got a dumb kid face,” Albert retorted, putting a hand on Elmer’s forehead as he approached to gloat and giving him a generous shove. “Folks think you’re cute, so you get all the attention.”

“I _am_ cute.” Elmer stuck out his tongue.

Albert snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

Elmer trotted off, zeroing in on another nice looking lady. At this rate, Albert was gonna have to kick the kid out of his selling spot.

* * *

As the sun descended lower and lower in the sky, the air in New York went from pleasantly chilly to downright cold. Eleanor walked back to the lodging house shoulder to shoulder with Albert, which he pretended was annoying, but he let her do it, which meant he also appreciated the extra warmth. Eleanor, for one, was not at all cold anymore.

“It’s cold as balls out there,” Albert announced with a grimace as they finally reached the lodging house, blustering in through the doors with a gust of wind.

“Are your balls cold, Al?” Eleanor snickered. “Sounds like something you should see a doctor about.”

“ _All_ of me’s cold,” he shot back, lightly shoving Eleanor’s shoulder.

She shoved him right back. This, of course, resulted in a shoving match that ended with Albert knocking her right over the back of one of the ratty couches. She landed upside down with her back in the seat and stayed there, pouting.

“Ahh, shuttup,” Albert admonished, though she hadn’t said anything.

Eleanor flipped him off—something she _never_ would have done to _anyone_ , a month ago. It was a whole different life, with the newsies. They could be rough and rude, but they were a family, and they cared about each other. She cared about them.

“Heya, Elmer,” a voice that sounded more like Jack than Albert addressed her from across the room.

“Yeah?” she called back.

“You warm enough to venture back out? I wanna introduce you to someone.”

“Ye’, sure.” She rolled over, really ungracefully falling off the couch and crossing to Jack.

Jack, in typical white knight fashion, unwound the flimsy scarf around his neck and dropped it on Eleanor’s head. “‘Ere, put that on,” he instructed, already heading for the door.

“Oookay.” She wrapped it around her neck as she hurried after him. “Where we goin’?”

“The Bowery,” he said, like that was some sort of proper explanation.

Eleanor shrugged—The Bowery wasn’t far—and they started off.

“How’re you settling in so far?” Jack asked her, not for the first time, as they walked.

“Pretty good, I’d say,” she replied. “Nobody treats me like an outsider. No one seems to know...”

He nodded. “The fellas have warmed right up to ya, so that’s good. You an’ Albert gettin’ along?”

“Yeeeup,” she replied simply. It was the truth. She and Albert _were_ getting along. He was probably the best friend she’d ever had, which spoke more to the fragility of her other friendships than to theirs.

“He’s an ass, but we love him,” Jack said with a sage nod.

Eleanor nodded as well. “I think we’re all asses, aren’t we?”

Jack chuckled at this. “I s’ppose we are.”

Eleanor tucked her hands into her pockets. Next winter, she should save up for a pair of gloves. Next winter. She was already assuming she’d still be hiding out with the newsboys next winter.

They continued quietly through the evening, and before long they reached their destination—the back door of a theatre.

“Jack, what are we doing here?” Eleanor asked

“I want you to meet a friend ‘a mine,” he answered, pushing the surprisingly unlocked door open.

They stepped inside, into the dark backstage of the theatre, full of ropes and boxes and props and clothes.

“Y’ever been in a theatre before?” Jack asked as he led her further in.

She shook her head.

Jack nodded in acknowledgment. “I’ll talk to Miss Medda about bringing you in for a show sometime.”

Eleanor scrunched up her eyebrows. “Miss Medda?”

“She owns the joint,” he explained, gesturing vaguely to the building around them.

“Ah.” Eleanor nodded, looking around. “Impressive.”

“She’s quite a lady,” Jack agreed, then he looked past Eleanor, and an enormous smile lit up across his face—charming, dazzling, and shockingly sincere, given the other two descriptors.

Eleanor turned around and saw—

“Miss Medda!” Jack greeted loudly, gently pushing past Eleanor to be swept into a hug.

Miss Medda was exactly what Eleanor always imagined a lady of the theatre should be—graceful, elegant, extravagant.

“Miss Medda, I want you to meet one of our new lodgers.” Jack gestured for Eleanor to come over.

She did, albeit a little nervously. Where was Jack going with this?

“El, this is Miss Medda, Miss Medda, this is Eleanor.”

Eleanor’s eyes snapped to him in a panic. _What are you doing? What are you_ doing _, Jack?_

“Eleanor, hm?” Medda asked, raising her eyebrow, knowingly.

Eleanor shrank back, ready to run for it. She was a good bit smaller than Jack, and lord knows she was more agile.

Jack nodded as Medda looked at Eleanor appraisingly. “She’s been hidin’ out with us,” Jack explained. “None a’ the fellas know, so I thought it’d be nice to take her somewheres she can relax.”

“I see.” Medda turned to Eleanor. “You been wrapping up your chest, honey?”

Eleanor nodded hesitantly.

Medda nodded again. “That’s not good for a body, long term. Why don’t you go ahead and get outta here, Jack, so us girls can unwind and chat a little.”

Jack nodded, but clapped a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder before he took off. “You good?” he asked, confirming.

She nodded, still a little unsure, but at least Jack seemed to have the very best of intentions. _“Thank you,”_ she mouthed.

“‘Course, I gotcha.” He patted her shoulder again. “I’ll be waitin’ out the back door.”

He trotted off, and Eleanor turned back to Medda. She tilted her head down apologetically, though she had no idea what she had to be sorry to Medda about.

Medda offered her a kind smile and extended her arm, offering to guide her. “Come on, honey, let’s go sit and talk awhile in one of the dressing rooms.”

Eleanor stepped forward, and Miss Medda gently rested her hand on her back, ushering her down some stairs and away from the stage. They passed a small group of performers who smiled at Eleanor patronizingly, in that ‘oh, what a cute little boy’ way she had become quite accustomed to, over the last few weeks.

“Pay them no mind,” Medda told her, opening the door to one of the larger changing rooms and gesturing for Eleanor to go inside.

Eleanor came to stand in the middle of the room, not yet comfortable enough to sit in any of the various chairs that furnished it, and Medda followed her in and shut the door behind her. Eleanor twisted the bottom of her shirt in her fists, feeling a little bit relieved to be closed off and a little bit trapped.

“It’s alright honey,” Medda assured her. “Ain’t nobody here to tell on you. You’re safe with me. ‘Course that don’t mean much, since you don’t know me, but Jack wouldn’t’a brought you if it were otherwise.”

“Why help me?” Eleanor asked.

“Why not?” Medda scoffed. “Us girls gotta stick together in this world.”

“I suppose so...”

“I’m not gonna tell anybody your secret, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That was good to hear. “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to find you something else to wear, or do you just wanna...?” Medda gestured vaguely towards Eleanor’s chest.

“Oh.” Eleanor placed a hand on her shirt, over the bandages. “No, I’ll just...” She turned to undress herself and remove the bandages, then put her shirt back on over her bare chest. It was much more comfortable and easy to breathe, this way.

“Do you have clean bandages to use when you go back?” Medda asked.

“No, ma’am, just these.”

Medda clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Well, that won’t do, will it? Let me see what I can find for you.”

Eleanor shook her head. “You don’t have to go through the trouble—”

“Oh, nonsense,” Medda spoke over her, moving towards a cabinet at one end of the room. “We have plenty of wrappings and such in here; no one will even miss it.” She pulled out a strip of fabric that, admittedly, looked a lot softer that the bandages the nun had provided. “Here you go.” She handed it over to Eleanor.

“Thank you, Miss Medda,” Eleanor said softly.

“Of course, baby,” Medda replied, smiling.

Eleanor finally took a seat in one of the stools that stood before a mirror. She took off her cap and ran her fingers through her hair, getting longer by the day, still unquestionably boyish.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Medda asked, sitting down on a couch that was over by a crate overflowing with what looked like old costumes. There was something very comforting about her presence. Motherly. Eleanor hadn’t had that in far too long.

“My father got into a lot of trouble with money,” she confessed. “Gambled a lot, you know. Some man came by one night, wanted Papa to pay his debts with me.” She shrugged. “Suddenly, I’m a newsie.”

Medda nodded sympathetically. “That ain’t right.”

Eleanor kicked her feet absently as she continued to explain, “I go by Elmer, now. None of the boys know, except for Jack. He found out, this morning. Saw my bandages, pulled me aside.”

Medda nodded again. “Well, I’m glad he brought you to see me.”

Eleanor nodded as well, wiggling awkwardly to stretch her sore back and shoulders. It felt strange, oddly exposed and vulnerable to leave her chest unwrapped, even under her shirt.

“You’re welcome to come visit me any time,” Medda invited with a kind smile.

“I will,” Eleanor told her. “I think...I need to breathe, sometimes.” Literally and figuratively.

Medda chuckled. “They’re good boys, over at that lodging house, but they’re still boys.”

“They’re not all so bad...” Eleanor smiled. Albert didn’t come to mind, in particular. Not at all.

Medda raised an eyebrow knowingly, like she’d seen that smile before, and Eleanor quickly wiped it off her face and cleared her throat instead.

“Well, I’m glad,” Medda said again, with a quiet chuckle to herself.

There was a knock on the door, and a man’s voice from outside called, “Miss Medda, you’re on in two minutes!”

“Well,” Medda stood and patted Eleanor’s cheek, “I’d better go, then. I hope you stop by tomorrow. I have so enjoyed our little chat.”

Eleanor’s smile returned. “Thanks, Miss Medda.”

“No problem, baby.”

Medda gracefully swished out of the room, closing the door securely behind her. Eleanor took another deep, deep breath, then unbuttoned her shirt to rewrap her chest with the soft cloth Medda had given her. Heading back the way she came, she found Jack waiting at the back door, just as he’d promised, and he shot her a winning smile as she approached.

She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, smushing her cheek up against his chest. “Thank you.”

Jack seemed surprised for a moment, but quickly hugged her back. “O’ course. We’s newsies. We’s a family.”

“Family,” she agreed.


	3. Happy Pride Month, Albert Calls Spot a F*g

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the one, the only, Racetrack Higgins.

April _18th, 1899._

‘Racetrack’ Higgins lived up to his name in several ways. He initially earned it by spending his days at the Sheepshead races, selling papes and placing bets. He was also a super fast runner and an even faster talker.

“So Jack and I goes over there to make the deal, an’ it’s goin’ real swell. Then, who should show up but fuckin’ Snyder the Spider, so Jack makes a run for it. I don’t even know where he went, but I’m second, so what do I do? Well, I finish the deal, that’s what I do. I tells Spot the bridge is _from_ Manhattan _to_ Brooklyn, so’s it belongs to us. Then he told me to suck it, so I did.”

Albert coughed, choking on a smokey laugh, and handed back Race’s cigar. “I ain’t even gonna bother tellin’ you ‘at you could get in big trouble for that.”

“Who cares? Bridge is ours, now.” Race took a long drag.

“You’s a moron.” Albert shook his head, amused, and stooped momentarily to pick up a stone on the edge of the sidewalk, then sent it skipping across the street. He’d run into Race on his way back to the lodging house, having finished selling for the day, and the two decided they were bored and restless enough not to go straight home, despite the chilly, April, evening air, so they found themselves wandering the streets of New York instead.

“A moron who just bought the Brooklyn Bridge for the newsies of lower Manhattan—have some respect!” Race punched Albert in the arm before taking another drag off his cigar.

“Y’know, I never would’ve guessed Spot Conlon was a fag,” Albert mused. It wasn’t like he had a problem with it; he knew Race was queer, and he was one of his best friends. He didn’t really get the appeal, himself, but then again, he didn’t really get the frankly overstated appeal of blondes, either. If you like something, you like it. Who was he to judge?

“Don’t know that he is,” Race replied with a shrug. “Blowjob’s a blowjob.”

Albert twisted his mouth downwards in mildly bemused agreement. “Guess that’s fair.”

Race swung around one of the scaffolds that held up the El train tracks above their heads as they made their way through Chatham square. “Ain’t you ever wonder what it’s like?”

“What, a blowjob?” Albert snorted.

Race scoffed. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“Who says I ain’t had one?”

“Me.” He grinned. “You’da told me.”

“I don’t tell you everything!” Albert protested.

“Fine. Have you?”

“No,” Albert grumbled.

“I knew it!” Race crowed. “It’s your own fault though. All you have to do is ask.” He winked.

“Ask who!?” Albert scoffed. “‘S not like we got a ready supply ‘a girls at the lodging house.“

“Oh my god.” Race rolled his eyes. “I meant me, dumbass.”

Albert scoffed more. “Yeah, right.”

“Hey, suit yourself.”

“I’ll have to ask Spot Conlon, see what I’m missing out on,” he snickered.

“Hell yeah, you will!” Race shouted much too loudly.

“Shshsh!” Albert smacked his shoulder, but he was laughing.

Race—loud and obnoxious and queer as he was—had been Albert’s best friend for years. He didn’t really know how it happened; everything was business as usual, and then one day Race decided they were ‘best buds’, and Albert didn’t really have a say in it, which was fine. Race was fun, when Albert had the patience for his bullshit. 

“You ready to head back to the lodge?” Albert asked. He was getting tired, and April in New York was still cold.

Race waved him away. “Nah, you go on, I got somethin’ to do.”

Albert shrugged. “Suit yourself, don’t fall in the river.”

“Excuse you, I’m way too coordinated for that,” Race shot back, a second before tripping over the curb.

Albert just laughed. “I’ll see ya at home, stupid.”

Race smiled. “See ya.”

* * *

Eleanor knew she had best be getting to sleep, if she wanted to have any chance of waking up with the morning bell. Still, she found herself sitting on the fire escape with her legs dangling over the edge, holding her hand out and watching the silver moonlight dance over her fingers. It wasn’t a full moon or nothin’, just a little more than a half in fact, but it made for a bright enough night for a girl in boy’s clothing to be alone with her thoughts for a while.

‘A while’ turned out to be not nearly as long as she expected, as someone came walking into the alley that housed the fire escape and made right for it. Eleanor squinted in the low light, and she could just make out the shape of a newsboy cap. One of the boys coming home late, then, or perhaps Sniper or Buttons running from home. As he got closer, Eleanor recognized Race, beginning to climb the ladder at the bottom of the fire escape.

She smiled politely. “Hey, Racer.”

Race jolted, startled, and nearly fell off the ladder.

“You good?” Eleanor asked.

“Jesus, you scared me,” he complained, resuming his climb. “Whaddayou doin’, sittin’ out here in the dark?”

“Can’t sleep. You smell like alcohol.”

“You smell like stupid,” he retorted, reaching the top of the ladder and taking a few steps to sit down next to her, rather than go inside.

Eleanor liked Race a whole lot. He was one of Albert’s closest friends, which meant Eleanor spent a bit more time with him than with just any newsie. The alcohol smell, unfortunately, reminded her of bad nights with her father. “Bad day?”

“Fine day, disappointing evening.”

Eleanor nodded. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Race was never one to keep things inside.

“You havin’ a good time working with Albert?” he asked, apparently already on to another topic.

“Yeah,” she told him, hoping she wasn’t blushing. “He’s nice...”

“He’s hot, isn’t he?”

Eleanor could have sworn her heart froze solid in her chest, eyes widening and snapping to Race in horror. Did Race _know?_

A lazy smile spread across his face. “Don’t panic, kid, I’m not gonna tell on ya. You’s talking to the local expert on having a hopeless crush on Albert DaSilva. It’s a pretty common affliction.”

“Ain’t that illegal?” she asked, pretending not to be super relieved.

Race scoffed. “‘Illegal’ don’t stop people from doin’ stuff; they just gotta be sneaky about it.”

“You ain’t exactly being sneaky, right now,” Eleanor pointed out.

“You sayin’ you gonna get me in trouble?” Race snickered, clearly unfazed.

“What if I is?” Eleanor asked, just to make a point. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt Race, ever.

“Well, then I’d beat the tar outta you before you could make it three steps,” Race shot back, but his smile showed that he clearly didn’t mean it, either.

Eleanor chuckled. “You’d try.”

“Besides,” Race continued, “I’m a fine, upstanding citizen, and you got no evidence.”

She shoved his shoulder playfully. “I got evidence you’s stealin’ cigars off rich old men in Brooklyn.”

Race gasped in mock insult, and the evidence in question nearly fell out of his mouth. “I would _never!_ ”

Eleanor giggled, grinning.

“I got nothin’ but the highest respect for the fine gentlemen a’ Brooklyn,” Race insisted, voice dripping with sarcastic dignity.

She quirked an eyebrow. “I bet you do.”

He shot her a lascivious wink. “An’ damn fine gentlemen they is.”

She giggled some more, leaning her head forward against the railing. She was finally getting tired.

Race, however, was still carrying on. “They’s a different breed in Brooklyn, I swear. Don’t even get me started on the goyls—”

Eleanor looked up at him in mild surprise. “I thought you didn’t like girls?”

Race waved at her dismissively. “I like everybody. If you’s pretty, you’s pretty.”

“An’ the folks is prettier in Brooklyn?”

“Not to say there ain’t pretty folks in Manhattan, too.” He shot her a knowing look and half a smirk.

She blushed some and looked away. Chuckling to himself, Race stood up, half patting her shoulder, half using her to push himself to his feet. “I’m gonna go to bed. Have fun pining.”

“‘M not pining!” she argued, shoving him towards the window.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say,” he laughed, and he disappeared into the lodging house.

Eleanor huffed, pouting to herself. She wasn’t _pining_ after Albert. She just...thought he was nice to look at, that’s all. Then, she chuckled a little when she heard Jack’s tired, annoyed voice loudly groan, “Are you fucking drunk?”

“I’m not fucking anything!” Race answered at equal volume, nearly drowning out a somewhat muffled, “Get off me!” from Albert.

Not wanting to miss out, Eleanor let herself in the window and closed it behind her. She covered her mouth to keep from snickering too loud at the sight of Race flopped all over Albert like a human blanket. She made for her bunk, but changed her mind at the last second and weaseled herself in next to Albert. “Scoot over.”

“Oh for cryin’ out loud,” he groaned, and although he did not in fact scoot, he didn’t push her out, either.

Race, on the other hand, seemed delighted. “Eyy, yeah! Join the party!”

“Hey,” Finch’s voice piped up in the dark, “there’s a party in Al’s bunk?”

Albert snapped, “Don’t you fucking _dare!_ ”

* * *

_April 19, 1899._

“You sure your stubby little legs can make it all the way to Sheepshead?” Race teased.

Eleanor kicked at his knee. “I’m not _that_ short.”

He snickered, dodging her attack. “It’s okay, you still got time to grow.”

She huffed. “Yeah, I can make it to Sheepshead, asshole.”

He held his hands up placatingly, but continued to tease. “A’right, if you says so. But I’s not gonna carry you when you get tired.”

“Please. I’ll carry _you_ when _you_ get tired.”

“You wanna bet on that?”

Eleanor smiled. “Jack told me never to make bets with you, because you cheat.”

Race pouted dramatically. “I don’t cheat _that_ much.”

“Lets go,” Eleanor giggled. “We’re wastin’ daylight.”

“A’right, c’mah.” He beckoned her to keep up as he started walking faster. “S’ not enough folks on the street today to justify walkin’. We can hop a trolley.”

“Don’t be stupid. We don’t have the money.”

He scoffed. “Ya don’t need money (when ya famous), ya need t’ move ya feet. Now would’je come on?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, you mean _hop_ a trolley.” She picked up speed, anyway.

“Yeah, what are ya, stupid? I ain’t payin’ for no trolley ticket.”

She shook her head, laughing. “You’s crazy, Racer.”

“What? You wanna walk three hours to Sheepshead? Waste all that sellin’ time?”

“No.”

“‘A’s what I thought.”

Race headed for the nearest big intersection. “You ever hopped a trolley before?” he asked.

“Nope.” Eleanor popped her lips on the ‘P’.

“Oh, you’s in for a treat,” he snickered, stopping just a step away from the road.

She stood next to him, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. This was the kind of thing sixteen-year-old girls never, _ever_ did, didn’t even think of it, but Eleanor was finding every day that being a thirteen-year-old boy was a lot more fun.

“We wait till traffic stops,” Race explained, “and then we gotta get on before they starts movin’ again. S’ a lot easier to catch ‘em when they’s standin’ still.”

It was a busy street, and traffic moved quickly, so it didn’t take very long for a trolley to show up. Unfortunately, it showed up on the opposite side of the street.

“Get ready,” Race said. “We gotta go just before they start movin’; we ain’t supposed to ride on the back, so’s we gotta get on when there ain’t time for someone to notice and kick us off.” As crossing traffic began to stop, he urged Eleanor into motion. “Okay go, go, go!”

She took off across the street, narrowly avoiding crashing into a carriage, and jumped, managing to get ahold of the trolley with her hands but not her feet.

“Up, up, up!” Race ordered, getting a grip on the railing beside her and easily vaulting up onto the little platform. He turned, offering her a hand up. “You and your stupid little legs, come on!”

She grabbed his hand, and he pulled, tugging her the rest of the way up onto the back of the trolley just as it began to move.

She let out the breath she was holding and smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Get a hold on the railing, so’s you don’t fall off,” he suggested, sitting down in the gap between the railings, straight back from the door, and letting his legs dangle down over the edge.

She did, letting her gaze wander over the city as it flew by. She had lived here all her life, seen all of it before, but never like this. Living with her parents, and then with just her dad, her world consisted mainly of their little tenement. Sure, the rest was out there, but it belonged to someone else. The shops belonged to their keepers. The towers belonged to rich, old men who played poker and smoked cigars. The streets? Well, they belonged to the newsboys. She saw the city in a different light, now. It was big and wild, and it was hers.

Race batted at her legs with his hand that wasn’t gripping the railing. “Sit down, stupid! There’s windows!”

It took her a moment to disconnect from the view and process what he’d said, and then she sat down next to him.

“Y’ gotta keep out of sight, dumbass,” Race chuckled.

“Sorry.” She kicked her feet a little. “This is nice.”

“It’s better when it ain’t so cold.”

“It ain’t that cold.”

They lapsed into silence as the ride continued—it was hard to keep a conversation up in the wind. The trolley moved fast, and it didn’t seem like too long before Race was telling Eleanor that they’d be getting off soon.

“We’ll wait till it stops,” he assured her. “I won’t make you jump off a moving one your first time.”

Gradually, the trolley pulled to a stop, and they hopped down. “Welcome, to Sheepshead Bay!” Race said dramatically, sweeping his arm. You could see, further down the road, that it opened up more as it neared the water, and of course the racetrack was around here somewhere, but from where you stood, it looked pretty much like any other block of New York. Eleanor almost confessed that she had been there before, when she was younger, but he was having so much fun, she decided to keep it to herself.

“The best part ‘a New York,” Race declared proudly.

“Better than ‘Hattan?” Eleanor teased. “I’m tellin’ Jack.”

“Eh, I’m in the clear so long as I ain’t talkin’ shit ‘bout fuckin’ _Santy Fe, New Mexico_.” Race took a playful swipe at Eleanor, lightly smacking her shoulder. “We gonna go sell some papes or what? There ain’t a race today, so we don’t got the crowd by the track, but there’s still plenty a’ folks about.”

“ _I’m_ gonna sell papes, for sure. Don’t know about you.” Eleanor grinned. “I hope for your sake your regulars are loyal, ‘cause I’m cute.” With a grin and a wink, she took off towards the nearest street corner.


	4. Eleanor Gets Drunk and Nothing Goes Wrong

_April 29th,_ _1899_.

Eleanor had never had whiskey before, and she didn’t much like the way it tasted, but she liked the way it made her cheeks feel warm and her chest light. More than that, she liked being with Albert and Race, sitting in a circle in the back of an alley as the moon rose over Manhattan.

“Tha’s the rules—you either tells the truth, or ya’ drink,” Race explained, already slurring a bit from what they drank along the way. “I’ll go first. Ask me anythin’.”

“What’s your real name?” Eleanor asked.

Race scoffed. “Well, tha’s just easy. M’name’s Anthony Giuseppe Higgins,” he said, putting on a thick, Italian accent.

Eleanor giggled as she leaned back against the cool bricks behind her. “You don’t look very Italian.”

“I gots a purebred bloodline,” Race replied proudly, “all the way down to my mom, who was a whore.”

Eleanor sputtered into laughter.

“No, she actually was,” Race reaffirmed.

“A whore?”

“You know, someone who f—”

Albert leaned over to clap his hand over Race’s mouth. “She had sex for money.”

“Not just for money!” Race declared, muffled, through Albert’s hand.

“I know what a whore is,” Eleanor scoffed. _I almost was one_.

“Anyway, my turn.” Race smacked Albert’s hand away. “Elmer, who d’you wanna swap so’s you don’t have to deal with Albert as a bunk mate anymore?” he teased.

She grinned. “I’ll swap you and bunk with Jo.”

Race gasped. “Never! Jojo is mine! Here, ask Al somethin’.” He shoved the whiskey bottle into Al’s chest.

Eleanor pursed her lips as she thought, and then she asked, “If you had to kiss one boy from the lodging house, who’d you kiss?” She quickly clarified, “A _real_ kiss, with feeling.”

Albert wrinkled his nose slightly, and then rolled his eyes as Race put both his hands up, waving around to get his attention, and began to whisper excitedly, “Me, pick me!”

“Jojo,” Albert answered, and Race once again gasped in indignation.

“You’s just saying that!”

“I dunno, Race,” Eleanor disagreed. “Jojo’s so sweet.”

“I know, and he’s mine!”

“A’right, a’right.” Albert handed the bottle back. “Race, now, I know you’ve sucked every cock between here and Trenton—”

“Actually, I met a guy from Levittown the other day—”

“Has you ever been with a girl?”

Eleanor sat up a little straighter, curious to hear his answer. Race had said he liked girls, but what did that mean, really?

Race shrugged. “Sorta. Not all the way or nothin’.”

“How far?” Eleanor asked.

Albert laughed. “Woah, kid.”

“You’s a baby!” Race agreed, shoving the bottle at Eleanor. “I ain’t gonna tell ya my dirty details!”

Eleanor shoved it back. “I’m not a baby! Tell the truth or drink.”

“Why’m I going twice in a row?” Race complained, but Albert had sided with Eleanor.

“He’s gotcha,” Albert shrugged, “them’s the rules.”

“Tellin’ my sex life to a _baby_ ,” Race grumbled. “Fine. Whaddayamean ‘how far’, like you want a play by play?”

“Didja kiss her?” Eleanor asked, rolling onto her knees to crawl in towards Race. “Didja take her clothes off? Didja touch her tits? Didja—”

“Oh my God.” Race scrambled backwards, laughing, until he hit the wall of the alley.

“You gonna drink or what?”

“Yes! Leave me alone!” He shoved at her with his free hand, lifting the bottle to his lips.

Eleanor beamed, reveling in her victory, and sat back down, albeit much closer to Race this time. She flopped against his shoulder. The world was nice and fuzzy around the edges, and he smelled kind of nice, like sugar and soap and cigar smoke.

After he finished his drink, Race handed the bottle off to Albert. “A’right, if you had to _sleep with_ one boy from the lodgin’ house—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Albert groaned.

“It’s a serious question!” Race insisted. “And no loop holes—I mean fuck buddies, not bunk buddies.”

Albert grumbled nonsense, taking a swig of whiskey and glaring at Race.

Race nodded approvingly. “Good. I was gonna kick your ass if you said Jojo again.”

Albert wrinkled his nose. “Jojo’s too pure.”

“Exactly!”

“Here, Elmer,” Albert handed her the bottle. “Do you like boys?”

Eleanor hesitated. What was the right answer? Sure, she was supposed to tell the truth, but nothing she told them was quite the truth. _Eleanor_ did like boys—did Elmer?

She took a drink.

“You’s _both_ cowards,” Race accused, slightly slurred.

“Oh, you’s a whore, just like your mother,” Albert shot back, taking the bottle from Elmer.

“I’s more than happy to sell, if you’s offerin’ to buy,” Race teased.

Eleanor snickered at Albert’s disgusted expression.

“Okay, he nixed my last one, so it’s your turn to ask, El.” Race jostled her slightly with the shoulder she was still leaning against.

“Fine,” she giggled softly. “Al, have _you_ ever been with a girl?”

“Kid, you got a serious fixation,” Race clucked, shaking his head like a disapproving church lady.

“I asked! He’s gotta answer!”

Albert was blushing and scowling. “No, I ain’t been with a girl. Not all the way, anyways.”

“ _Ha!_ ” Race cackled loudly.

Albert kicked at him. “You haven’t either!”

Race took the bottle from him and handed it back to Eleanor. “So, El, what about you? You ever been with a girl?”

“Come on, man, he’s a kid,” Albert scoffed.

“No, but I’ve kissed a girl!” Eleanor answered defiantly. It was actually true, given she was five years old when she did it, kissing a friend goodbye before her family moved out west.

“Oh ho! See, that’s more than Albert can say!” Race laughed.

“That’s not true, I have so!” Albert shouted.

“Your mother don’t count.”

“No, but yours does!”

Eleanor, still with her head on Race’s shoulder, tilted he chin up to look at his face, though she mostly got a view up his nostrils. “Is your mother pretty, Race?”

“‘Bout as pretty as I am,” he replied proudly.

She smiled. “My mama was pretty...”

“She a whore, too?”

“Race.” Albert kicked him again.

“Whaaat? I’m just askin’!” he whined.

“No,” Eleanor sighed contentedly. “She didn’t work, and then the went to work in a factory.”

“Where she at now?” Albert asked.

“Linden Hill, o’er in Queens.”

“Oh shit,” Albert said, but he seemed overall unconcerned that she’d just announced her mother was dead. Though, then again, very few newsies had their parents.

“What about’cher dad?” Race asked.

The warm feeling in Eleanor’s stomach turned sour. “He’s dead, too.” He was dead to her, anyway.

Albert nodded. “Mine, too.”

Eleanor looked up at him. “And your mom?”

“She’s a shit mother, so I ran out.”

Eleanor hummed, taking another drink.

“Hey,” Race huffed, “don’t hog it, you didn’t even dodge a question.”

She flipped him off as she tipped the bottle farther back.

“Go easy, jeez!” Albert laughed.

She coughed, splattering whiskey down the front of her shirt, and the boys laughed, somewhere between sympathy and amusement. Scrunching up her nose against the burn, she passed the bottle back to Albert and flumped against Race once more.

Race chuckled, dropping his arm around her shoulders to support her. “You good, kid?”

“Mmhm,” she groaned, going completely limp. Race was warm.

“We should probably head back,” Albert suggested. “It’s pretty late.”

Eleanor groaned some more, wiggling closer to Race. Albert sounded like he was across a big, open room with a high ceiling, like in Medda’s theatre. Eleanor wanted to be close to Albert.

As he stood up, he sounded even farther away. “C’mon. You gonna walk, or d’we gotta carry you?”

She kicked weakly at his feet.

“Useless,” he scolded, but he sounded amused.

“Come on, Al—you’s the big, strong man,” Race teased. “You carry him.”

“Who’s gonna carry _me?_ ” Albert protested.

“Aw, do you need someone to cawwy you?”

Eleanor giggled airily.

“I’ll knock your teeth out, Racer,” Albert replied casually. “Now help me get him on my back.”

* * *

By the time they got Elmer up on his back, Albert regretted asking Race for help. Elmer wasn’t that heavy in the first place, and all Race did was slip and fumble and make everything more difficult than it actually needed to be. The properly hard part was getting up the fire escape—Kloppman locked the lodge house doors at eleven o’clock, and any newsie still outside was on their own, either to find a different way in or a different place to sleep. Luckily, it was an unspoken rule among the newsies that, if anyone wasn’t home by curfew, the windows stayed unlocked.

It took some awkward balancing and climbing one handed, but Albert got up the ladder and through the window without dropping Elmer on Race, waiting below. It was just after eleven, so many of the boys were still awake, just settling into their bunks.

Jack groaned indignantly when he saw Elmer flopped over Albert’s back. “Oh, for crying out loud. What’d you do to him?”

“He’s fine!” Albert replied. “We was just drinkin’.”

There were scattered snickers around the room, and Race climbed in through the window. “Everyone in?”

Jack nodded. “You three was the last ones.”

Race nodded back and turned to lock the window behind him.

Albert crossed the room to his bunk, and after a second of contemplation, turned to drop Elmer—now sound asleep—onto his bottom bunk, rather than trying to get him up into his own.

“Aw,” Race cooed stupidly, brushing his hand over Elmer’s forehead. “He’s all cute, when he’s sleepin’.”

Albert humphed tiredly. “Yeah, when he’s not bein’ all noisy for once. Help me get his shoes off.”

They each took a side and carefully untied Elmer’s boots, trying not to wake him as they slid them off his feet.

Race snorted, very drunkly. “His feet is so little.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you’s a baby.” Albert rolled his eyes. “You had dumb baby feet too, once, before you became a living noodle.”

“Yeah? You sayin’ I has big feet, Al?” Race grinned.

Albert groaned, flopping onto his bed and nearly crushing Elmer as he did so. “I’s sayin’ you’s not all little n’ cute.”

“I’s not little, but I’s cute!” Race protested, climbing up into Elmer’s bunk.

“You’s _loud_ is what you is,” Mush complained from the next bunk over.

Elmer wiggled in his sleep, turning onto his side and curling into Albert. Albert just quietly sighed. There wasn’t really room in the tiny bed to push the kid off or room to scoot away. Besides, he didn’t actually mind all that much. The newsies of lower Manhattan were always a physically affectionate bunch, and Albert was less so than others, but certainly not an exception.

* * *

Any other morning, Eleanor would have appreciated waking up with Albert’s arm around her shoulder, snuggled into his side. Unfortunately, the splitting headache and nausea killed the mood. She groaned loudly, squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face in Albert’s shoulder to block the light, and he shifted, grunting unhappily at her loudness.

Nearby, Jack snickered. “This, my dear Elmer, is what we call a hangover. You won’t be selling the morning edition.”

Eleanor whined. “But—”

“Go back to sleep, kid,” Jack instructed.

She wanted to argue. No newsie liked to miss a day of selling. Sometimes, it meant the difference between a bed and sleeping on the street. Unfortunately, her own voice rang like a bell in her head, so she kept her mouth shut.

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll spot ya’,” Race told her, speaking softly over the dull _thud_ of his feet hitting the floor. “You’ll owe me, though.”

As much as she disliked the thought of being indebted to anyone for anything, the thought of getting out of Albert’s bed just then and going out into the cold, loud streets was even less appealing. Besides, there were definitely worse people to be indebted to than Racetrack Higgins—there were certainly better people, too, but also much, much worse.

“C’mo, Al.” Race lightly kicked Eleanor’s bunk mate in the ribs, and he groaned loudly. “I ain’t spottin’ you too, so you’d better get up!”

Albert groaned again, but he rolled out of bed nevertheless, leaving Eleanor feeling strangely cold. She pulled the blanket over her head and curled into a little ball. The noise level in the room raised significantly as the boys began to properly wake up, getting dressed—or simply straightening the clothes they’d slept in—and generally getting ready for the day. Eleanor surrendered to the sledgehammer inside her skull until the group thinned out and eventually disappeared.

She tried to go back to sleep, but no matter what she did, it was too bright or too warm or too _something_. She wanted to breathe, and while she was alone in the lodging house as far as she knew, she couldn’t convince herself to risk it. Instead, with a heavy groan, she engaged her weary muscles and dragged herself out of Albert’s bunk. Immediately, she wanted to be back. It smelled like him, and he was comfortable to her—he and Race both. They were the best family she’d had, since her mama died. Pulling her cap low over her eyes and sticking close to the walls, she made her way down the stairs and out of the lodging house. Thanks to a very well-drawn and detailed map from Jack, she knew a shortcut to Irving Hall that kept her off the main streets and mostly out of the sun.

She made okay time, considering her condition, but then she had to stop outside the stage floor and throw up. That’s how Medda’s stage manager found her—bent over with her forehead resting on her forearm against the wall, evacuating what little was in her stomach onto the pavement. It took some convincing to get him to let her in to see Medda, since no kids were allowed in the theater, but eventually she made it, and he directed her towards Medda’s office. She knocked on the door, matching the pounding in her head.

“Yes?” Medda called from inside.

“Miss Medda?” Oh, God, Eleanor sounded pathetic.

After a moment, the door opened, revealing Medda. “Eleanor,” she greeted her with a smile.

Eleanor smiled weakly back.

“Everything alright, honey?” Medda asked.

“I’m sick,” she responded. “Well...I’m hungover, but—”

“Ahh,” Medda nodded with a quiet chuckle. “Well, you come on in here, and we can have a nice, quiet morning.”

“Thank you, Miss Medda.” Eleanor stepped inside her office, gesturing to her chest as Medda closed the door behind her. “Do you mind if I...?”

Medda waved at her, urging her on. “Of course, you go right ahead.”

“Thanks.”

Eleanor had gotten quite comfortable stripping in front of Medda. After all, the actresses at Irving Hall did it all the time. She unbuttoned her shirt just enough to pull her arms out, letting it hang around her waist while she unwrapped her chest. She tucked the strip fabric into her pocket before repositioning her shirt, rubbing gently at her sore ribs.

“Jack still keepin’ your secret safe?” Medda asked.

Eleanor sat down in the plushy, velvet chair in the corner and gently scratched the arm to feel the small fibers underneath her fingernails. “Yes. No one else knows.”

Medda nodded. “He’s a good boy.”

“He looks out for me,” Eleanor agreed. “He refused to let me sell, today.”

“Because of the hangover?” Medda chuckled.

“Yeah...”

“Well, you sit there. Let me get you a glass of water.” Medda patted Eleanor’s shoulder on the way out of the room. Eleanor was slumped over in the chair asleep, by the time she got back.


	5. Out O’ School Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race teaches Eleanor everything he knows (it doesn’t take long).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like a lot of this story, this chapter deals briefly with the topic of underage prostitution.

_May 4th, 1899._

“A’right, so you gotta be sneaky like, with this sorta thing,” Race explained. “Ya gotta be casual. Hide in plain sight, get lost in the crowd, whateva’.”

The previous evening, when Race had come home with two cigars and a box of candied ginger, Elmer had demanded he show him how to pickpocket, and with mostly theatrical argument, he had agreed. Elmer was a good kid, and it was exciting to have an apprentice.

“That might be hard for me,” Elmer admitted with a defeatist sigh. “I’s awful loud an’ cute.”

Race laughed, rolling his eyes. “Please, if _I_ can get away with it, you can.”

“Fine.” Elmer crossed his arms defiantly. “Show me.”

Race reached up and grabbed the lip of his hat, wiggling it slightly, and pushed off the lamp post he’d been leaning on. He already had a target in mind; there was a baker’s cart on the street ahead of them, probably headed towards a market or making deliveries for the day. It was all too easy for him to ‘accidentally’ bump into the cart, dodging other pedestrians on the crowded street, and nick a pastry out of a basket. He cut a wide circle back to Elmer and tossed him what had turned out to be an apple turnover, grinning.

Elmer grinned back, but there was a little glint in his eye that made Race very suspicious. He tucked the apple turnover into his bag, then extended his arm, pointing his finger at Race, and took a deep breath. “Help! This boy is stealing!” he shouted, before turning and sprinting the other way.

Race’s eyes shot wide and he let out a squawk of outrage. That little shit! With less than a second of hesitation, he took off into the crowd. Well used to needing to disappear, he wasn’t at all concerned about getting caught, but as he quickly found out, Elmer was also quite good at getting lost. 

“Ahh, dammit,” Race groaned, after a cursory sweep of the surrounding area gave no clue as to Elmer’s whereabouts. He didn’t want to spend the evening searching through lower Manhattan for some dumb kid, but that was _his_ dumb kid, and he wasn’t about to let him get properly lost or hurt on his watch. Not only would Jack kill him; he’d actually, really, care.

Well, surely Elmer wouldn’t go that far.

He looked up and down a couple more streets, asking a few passers by if they’d seen “a bitty little newsie wanderin’ around?” But no such luck. Just when he was about to get actually worried, he felt a not so gentle pat on his shoulder. He turned around, and there was Elmer, giggling like a shitty little shithead.

“There you are, you pint-sized bastard!” Race smacked his shoulder. “Where’d you go? You had me scared!”

“Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry.

“Right.” Race scoffed, then he smacked Elmer in the shoulder again. “You know you gotta be careful, kid. You wanna land us both in the Refuge or somethin’?”

Elmer took the stolen apple turnover out of his bag, broke it into two pieces, and handed one to Race. “What’s the Refuge?” he asked, before taking a bite.

Race cringed. “Wow, you ain’t been on the streets long, have you?”

Elmer frowned. “Why?”

“The Refuge is a jail for underage kids. Every street kid knows it, or knows someone who’ been in it,” Race explained.

“Have you?” Elmer asked.

Race scoffed. “Please, I ain’t never been caught by no one, least of all Snyder an’ his goons.” He shook his head. “Nah, not me, but Jack has.”

Elmer frowned harder. “What’d he do?”

Race waved dismissively. “Stole somethin’ or other.” He went to grab his cigar from where he’d stashed it in his back pocket, but it wasn’t there. He frowned, patted his pocket, tried his other pocket, same result.

Elmer smirked. “Looking for something?” His hand disappeared into his bag and came back twirling Race’s cigar between his fingers.

“You little rat!” Race accused, laughing, and impressed in spite of himself.

He reached out to snatched his cigar, and Elmer tried to hold it away, which quickly turned into a light smacking match. Before too long, Race got ahold of the cigar, planted his other hand firmly in the middle of Elmer’s face, and shoved. Elmer stumbled back, pinwheeling his arms before falling onto his backside, curling in on himself with laughter. Race only held onto his disapproving frown for a second before laughing as well.

“I’m tellin’ Jack you _hit_ me!” Elmer complained as he climbed to his feet.

“Yeah, an’ he’ll thank me for doin’ my part to toughen you up,” Race shot back, clapping Elmer’s shoulder and pulling him into his side for a brief, momentum fueled hug.

Elmer leaned into him, pushing them both off balance, and Race nearly tipped off the curb and into the street, but he used Elmer to catch his balance. The last time he’d had this much fun with the new kid was...well...honestly never. _He’d_ been the new kid, and he was taken under Jack’s wing.

“How you settlin’ into the life, anyway, new kid?” Race asked, dropping his arm from Elmer’s shoulders to go digging in his pockets for his matchbook.

“Not bad,” Elmer replied. “S’better ‘an my old one.”

Race chuckled. “Ain’t that a familiar tune.” It was pretty much the story of every newsie in New York.

“Yeah,” Elmer grumbled. He kicked at a pebble on the ground. 

Elmer had said he was an orphan, both parents dead, but Race knew that wasn’t the truth—not the whole truth, anyway. He recognized that haunted look in the kid’s eyes when he mentioned his dad. Race wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to push, so he did the next best thing, and started talking about himself—one, because he was a bit of a narcissistic bastard, and two, sometimes folks tell you about them, when you tell them about you.

“I only landed here myself ‘bout, ohh, four or five years ago?” He found his matchbook and ripped one out, holding it in his teeth to fold the little cardboard book back up, and put it back into his pocket.

“Why didja? You got a mother.” Elmer said this with a hint of sadness in his voice.

Race huffed. “If ya wanna call her a mother.” He pulled the match out of his mouth, striking it on his teeth, and lit his cigar, taking a few puffs to get it properly going, and flicked the match into the gutter.

“Even if she ain’t,” Elmer added.

Race shrugged. “She was okay for a bit. I guess she kept me alive long enough to get bored a’ me, then, most part, I might a’ well not existed. Soon as I figured out how, I started stealin’ from the fellas that came to the brothel, so’s I could feed m’self, but the madam didn’t like that.” He smiled, remembering. “She liked me though, so she sent me to school to keep me outta trouble. Hell, I was more her kid than my own mudda’s.”

“So why’d you leave?”

“Madam died, an’ the new owner thought an education ‘d make me less useful, so I got pulled out. Then mama started drinkin’ an’ hittin’, so I cut my losses and ran.”

Elmer hummed darkly in vague acknowledgment.

“Maybe the new guy was right,” Race shrugged again, “‘cause so far I’ got more use outta my out o’ school education.”

“What do you mean?”

“The stealin’ an’ the whorin’ is a lot more useful than the summin’ an’ the writin’.”

“You’s a whore?” Elmer asked.

Race held his finger and thumb up, about an inch apart. “Only a little bit.” He grinned. “When the pay’s good enough.”

There was a pause, in which Race took a long puff off his cigar. Then, Elmer took a couple steps closer, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips in a contemplative sort of way.

“What do you do?”

After the drinking game with Albert the other night, Race wasn’t entirely surprised by this question, so he answered. “Mostly mouth stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Depends on what I’m workin’ with, and what I’m workin’ for,” he replied, being pointlessly evasive.

As usual, Elmer was undeterred. “Such as?”

Race chuckled. “‘F you wanna talk about it so bad, let’s get outta the crowd.”

* * *

Eleanor didn’t know much about sex, even at sixteen. Her father never talked about it with her, and her mother had been so sick the last few years of her life, it just sort of fell through the cracks. Eleanor knew the basic mechanics of sex, that it was supposedly sinful outside of marriage, that it was probably going to hurt a little the first time she did it, and that it was almost forced on her.

She also knew that being around pretty boys made her feel good.

“A’ight, listen,” Race began, as they sat on the fire escape of a mostly-empty tenement building. “You needs to know this shit, ‘cause you’s cute, and you’s gonna be cuter when you’s older. Goyls is gonna be all over you, so you gotta know what you’s doin’. Confidence is key.”

Eleanor grinned, delighted by the roundabout compliments. “I got confidence.”

“Ahh, but is it the _right_ sorta confidence?” Race asked, reaching over to tap the tip of her nose with his finger. She made a face and snapped her teeth at him, and he laughed. “Yeh, that’s the spirit.” He held his finger up to emphasize his next point. “Believe it or not, some folks like that.”

“What? Being bitten?”

He nodded sagely, and Eleanor frowned, briefly imagining Race biting her. It made her feel funny, so she stopped.

“Not when ya workin’ downstairs, though,” Race continued, as casually as if he were explaining how to fold a paper. “Y’never use ya teeth on the important bits. Legs is all good, though. It’s all about those little things—the details, tha’s what makes folks think you know what you’s doin’.”

“Like what?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Besides biting.”

“Oh, you know, just payin’ attention to the whole person, ‘stead ‘a just the essentials. Like kissin’ more ‘an just their mouth.” Race turned to lean back against the railing of the fire escape. “Necks, hands, collar bones. Legs is good, like I said before. N’ stuff like eye contact. Little things ya don’t think of.”

“What do you like?” Eleanor asked, as curiosity continued to get the better of her.

The boy shrugged. “Lotsa stuff. Like right hea.” Race turned his head slightly away, moving two fingers to trace a short line from just behind the hinge of his jaw, below his ear, to down under his jaw. “‘S real sensitive. Hurts like a motherfucker if ya get hit there, or ya push real hard, but kissin’, or touchin’ gentle like, ‘s real nice.”

Eleanor absently touched that spot on her own neck, but she didn’t quite get what Race was describing.

He shook his head, “Nah, here,” and reached over to place a finger just above hers, a little closer to her ear, and trailed it lightly down an inch, following the curve of her jaw.

Oh.

Yeah, okay.

He was right; that did feel nice, and that funny feeling returned, stronger this time. Race trailed his finger back up, behind the hinge of her jaw, and then, with a sudden, wicked grin, dug his finger in, hard. He was right about that, too; it hurt like a motherfucker.

“Ow!” Eleanor smacked his hand, then his face. “Asshole!”

Race cackled, leaning back out of reach. “I told you!”

Eleanor tipped forward, smacking at him some more, and Race continued to laugh, leaning back against the railing until he couldn’t escape any further. Eleanor stumbled into his lap, and he caught her.

“Watch it, stupid,” he snickered, and it occurred to her that he had a really nice laugh. And a really nice smile, for that matter; all crooked and sorta twisty on side.

...Well, shit.

She was too busy noticing how nice he smelled—like cigars and salty air, but in a good sorta way—and how one of his incisors was chipped diagonally, making it sharper than it should’ve been, to think about how she should probably be getting out of his lap, until Race gave her a shove.

“You comfy?” he teased.

She shoved back. “Maybe I is. You’s comfier than metal.” In defiance, she turned around and settled herself in his lap, with her back against his chest.

Race huffed, but he was clearly amused.

Eleanor tipped her head back against his shoulder and pulled the brim of her hat down in an attempt to hide her blush. “I thinks we oughta take a nap before the evening edition comes out.”

“Oh, so you gets to be comfy, and I gets to sit here on the fire escape an’ be ya bed?”

“Yeah.” She wiggled around to get even more comfortable. “You’s older.”

Race muttered nonsensical arguments, but didn’t try to push her off again. She smiled, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that told her she was supposed to be a thirteen-year-old boy, and feeling this way about yet another one of her fellow newsies was very bad.


	6. Two Big Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Not to Bind Your Chest, by Eleanor "Elmer" Kasprzak

_May 6th, 1899._

“Fuck!” Elmer hissed as the overstretched fabric she used to wrap her chest tore beneath her hands. She groaned, flopping back against the wall of the closet. She was having trouble tying it as it was; she didn’t need it any shorter. With a heavy sigh, she took it off and wrapped it again, tighter this time so she could tie it. She couldn’t breathe all the way in, but it would have to do until after she sold the morning edition, when she could sneak away to Medda’s theatre for a new piece of fabric.

Summer was rapidly approaching, and with fewer layers of clothing on, it was more important than ever that Elmer kept her chest under wraps. Despite the warm weather, she put a button-up over her undershirt just in case. With a vest on top of that, she figured she could hide her girlish figure well enough, even if the fabric tore again.

She exited the closet and trotted down the hall, meeting up with Albert just as he reached the stairs. “Hiya, Albie.” She grinned. “Do ya miss sellin’ with me, yet?”

After doing his best to pawn her off on Race and meeting only partial success, Albert had finally banned Elmer from his selling spot for ‘stealing all the customers’. Elmer took it as a compliment and tried not to let her disappointment show.

“Y’ mean do I miss being out-sold on my own street corner?” he shot back with a chuckle. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you need a new selling spot.”

“Got any ideas?”

“Ask Race.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “Race got no ideas.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs just as Race came sliding down the bannister. “I always have ideas!”

“Oh God,” Albert groaned, taking a step back out of the way as Race crash landed.

Elmer reached to help him up, laughing. “Geez, Race. You tryin’ to get cripple advantage or somethin’?”

“It ain’t fair that Crutchie gets all the sympathy,” the boy complained, standing up, and nearly pulling Elmer off her feet in the process.

“A’right, boys, let’s get a move on!” Jack called on his way down the stairs.

“You ready to go, new kid?” Race asked Elmer.

“Yeah, since Albert won’t take me, anymore.” She stuck her tongue out at Albert.

Albert rolled his eyes. “Racer’s got more folks to steal. He won’t miss ‘em.”

They stepped out of the lodging house, and the warmth hit Elmer like an ocean wave. Any other day, she’d have taken off her button-up and gone on in just her undershirt and vest, but until she got to Medda’s, she couldn’t risk it. She’d have to power through the morning.

* * *

“You doin’ okay, new kid?” Race asked as Elmer sat down on a nearby bench.

“Yeah,” Elmer panted, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. He was out of breath and sweating, which was at least a bit understandable, considering the muggy air coming off the bay, but it wasn’t _that_ hot. Surely he wasn’t coming down with something. It wasn’t that time of year.

Elmer waved Race away. “‘M fine, just give me a minute.”

Race shrugged, “Okay,” and turned away to go mill through the nearby crowd, careful to stay within eyesight of Elmer as he began to sell.

After a minute or so, Elmer stood up, stumbling slightly. Race paused to watch as Elmer steadied himself and started shouting headlines. His voice was weaker than normal. Race frowned. Normally, he was eager for anything to break the monotony of the day to day, but whatever this was wasn’t good.

Just when he was about to head back over, a man stopped him to buy a pape, forcing him to look away. Once the transaction was complete, Race bid him farewell with a, “Thanks, mister,” and a cheeky smile.

The man nodded and started on down the street, and Race turned back to Elmer, glad to see him making a sale of his own.

It had probably been nothing. Some of the newsboys sometimes felt ill in the mornings for no reason. It was a common enough occurrence for it to be of little concern, as long as it went away quickly. Still, Elmer wasn’t ‘some of the newsboys’, he was _Elmer_ , who had come in and attached himself to Race and Albert so fast, Race practically got whiplash. He couldn’t help but worry.

Suddenly, the woman who had just bought a paper from Elmer frowned and reached towards him, and he stumbled back into a lamppost.

“Ah, shit,” Race muttered to himself, and he darted over.

Elmer clung to the lamppost to keep himself from falling, but it was clear when he looked up at Race that he wasn’t fine. His skin had a weird, waxy look to it, and his eyes lacked their usual playful twinkle.

“Whoa, you okay?” Race asked, even though he knew the answer was ‘no’.

Of course, Elmer nodded, turning back towards his customer. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Yeah, thanks lady.” Race waved her away, still focused on Elmer. “C’mon kid, let’s get you somewhere to sit down or somethin’.”

Elmer nodded again, taking a stunted breath, and stepped towards Race. Race offered his arm to help him, aiming to head for a bench he’d spotted just up the street, sitting on the sidewalk outside a barbershop. Elmer took his arm, only making it a few more steps before stumbling into his side.

“Whoa, hey.” Race caught him, growing more concerned by the second.

Elmer’s eyelids fluttered, and he took another short breath, then collapsed. Race yelped, struggling to catch him as he slumped to the pavement. 

Well, this was bad. This was very bad.

He carefully lowered Elmer the rest of the way to the ground, crouching next to him. Fuck, was he breathing? Yes, but he was straining. His cheeks were very pink, and his lips slightly blue.

Yeah, this was very, _very_ bad.

Maybe getting some of his layers of clothing off would help. First though, Race wanted to get somewhere less in the middle of the street—give the poor kid some privacy and room to breathe. Getting out of the sun would probably be good, too. So Race stood up again, hoisting Elmer into his arms, and headed for a nearby alleyway. Once away from the street and the mess of people, he set him back down again and went to work on the buttons of his vest, tugging it down off his shoulders, before undoing the buttons on his shirt. Jesus Christ, why had the kid worn two shirts, today?

Elmer’s head lolled listlessly to the side, and Race panicked a little. He hurriedly tugged Elmer’s arms out of his sleeves and tossed aside the overshirt, wishing he had someone else there to go get a drink of water from somewhere, or to go get Jack, or _something_ , but it was just them, so the best he could do was get the layers off and hope it was enough to fix whatever it was that had gone wrong.

He slid Elmer’s suspenders off his shoulders and untucked his undershirt before pulling it up, over his head. Race stopped then, surprised to see a length of fabric—it looked too soft to be any sort of bandage—wrapped around Elmer’s chest. It looked pretty tight, too, so Race decided to take care of that, as well. If it _was_ a bandage, whatever was underneath could certainly handle some brief exposure in the name of breathing.

He struggled to untie it, eventually finding that the knot had been wrenched tight, but the fabric itself was overstretched and frail. He gripped the top of one side in both hands and twisted, and the fabric ripped easily. What the hell did Elmer think he was doing? No wonder he couldn’t breathe. Race unwrapped the fabric quickly, hoping that, with it looser, Elmer would wake up. It took Race a moment to realize, but when he did, he froze.

Under his clothes, Elmer didn’t look like a boy.

For a second Race just stared, confused. The logical conclusion, ‘Elmer’s a girl’, just didn’t make sense in his head.

He didn’t get a chance to come to terms with it before Elmer took a breath in, coughed, and gasped awake, sitting up slightly as more coughs wracked his—her—body.

“Uhh, shit.” Not knowing what else to do, and blushing furiously, Race quickly grabbed Elmer’s—surely that wasn’t actually her name—discarded overshirt and draped it over her to cover her up.

She furrowed her eyebrows and placed her hand over it, looking down, then fell back onto the pavement. She looked exhausted, disoriented.

“I don’t got water or nothin’, sorry,” Race told her, trying his damndest to focus on the situation at hand, rather than the situation on his—her—chest. “Just try an’ breathe.”

“Racer?” she murmured dazedly.

“Yeah, ‘m here,” he answered.

She blinked a couple times, then tried to sit up.

“Whoa, take it easy, kid.” Race put a hand on her shoulder. “Take a breath.”

She looked at him, then down again, still holding her shirt to her chest. She was coming around, he could see it.

“Take it easy,” he repeated, feeling his cheeks heat up again. “You’s alright.”

She crossed her arms protectively, like a ‘X’ over her chest, and took a couple slow breaths. Race cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing down at her now re-covered chest for half a second, then glancing away again. He hoped he wasn’t blushing as brightly as it felt like. She pulled her knees up, practically shrinking in on herself, and he pulled his hand away, in case that was making her uncomfortable. God, this was awkward. She was a _girl_ , for Christ’s sake. How had he not noticed?

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“Y’ passed out on me,” Race explained, feeling compelled to avert his eyes from her entirely, so he stared down at the gravel they were sitting on. “I gotcha back here, t’ get outta the sun n’ the crowd, an’ I thought maybe gettin’ some a’ those layers off ya would help with the breathin’—you weren’t doin’ much of it—an’ then, well...” He gestured vaguely at her chest, that was very much not the chest of a thirteen year old boy.

He didn’t look to see her reaction, but there was a long pause before she spoke again. “Are you...going to ask?”

After a moment of thought—there were so many things _to_ ask—Race glanced up at her again. “So...what’s your name, really?”

“Eleanor Kasprzak,” she said, “but Elmer is okay, too.”

“Mine’s Anthony.” He blushed again. Stupid. “But you already knew that.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Sorry, that was dumb.” He cleared his throat, determined to stop being a distracted idiot. “Are you feelin’ any better? With the breathin’ an’ what not?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Good.”

They fell into silence again, resolutely not looking at each other.

Eventually, Race cleared his throat again. “So, why’s you pretendin’ to be a boy?”

She mumbled something Race couldn’t catch.

“Hm?”

“My Papa tried to make me a whore,” she said louder. “‘M hiding.”

Race’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked at her in quiet shock. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She shifted restlessly. “You gonna tell?”

He scoffed. “Tell who?”

“I don’t know. Anyone.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “I ain’t no snitch.”

“Jack knows. He and Miss Medda Larkin at Irving Hall, and now you.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Race said, not entirely sure why specifically it was good. Maybe he didn’t want anything to change, or maybe he just didn’t like the idea of her getting caught, of her being a whore like his mother.

“Will you...turn around so’s I can get dressed?” she asked.

“Oh.” Race flushed again, nodding quickly, and got up to do as she asked. “Sure, sorry.”

 _Eleanor_.

Race rolled the name around in his mind. It was a pretty name. She was a pretty girl. He wondered how old she actually was—certainly older than the thirteen she had claimed, judging by her— Race pushed the thought away brusquely, glad he had his back to her as he blushed harder.

“You can turn back around, now.”

He did, pushing his hands into his pockets. They looked at each other, a weird electricity in the air between them. Nothing had changed, not really. Yet, everything had. Race wasn’t the big brother figure anymore, and Elmer wasn’t a kid any more than Race was.

Feeling increasingly awkward by the second, he decided he had to know, for his own peace of mind. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Sixteen.”

“Oh,” he chuckled awkwardly, “me too.”

She smiled a little.

“You can relax,” Race assured her. “I ain’t gonna tell nobody.”

“I know. I trust you.” She retrieved her cap and bag from where they had fallen on the ground, and a slightly pained look came over her face. “I’ve gotta go back to Manhattan. Miss Medda will give me new fabric...”

“I’ll ride back with you,” Race offered, cringing slightly at the discarded, torn fabric on the ground next to her.

She shook her head. “You needs to sell. Don’t get behind for me.”

Race shook his head as well. “Buddy system law—y’cant go ‘tween boroughs by y’self till you’s fifteen, _Elmer_.”

She squawked indignantly. “You shit!”

He laughed. “Jack’s rules, not mine!”

“Jack knows I’m sixteen!”

“Well we don’t got no rules for goyls, but I bet if we did, they’d be different rules.”

“Why?” She walked up to him, presently tucking her shirt back into her waistband, cocking her head in question—no, not question—challenge. “‘Cause you boys can’t keep you’s hands to yourselves?”

Race looked down at her. “Well, yeah.”

She scoffed. “Typical.”

“‘S true though.”

“Then perhaps I should find a woman to escort me back to Manhattan.” She turned and started towards the mouth of the alley.

As she walked away, Race’s eyes almost instinctively trailed down to her backside, and he looked away again quickly, chastising himself— _I can’t look at Elmer that way, Jesus Christ! He’s a kid!_ —except he wasn’t actually a kid. He wasn’t actually _he_ , either, but that made little difference to Race.

After the few seconds it took to get his thoughts sorted out, Race broke into a short jog for the few steps it took to catch up with her. “You’s safe with me an’ the boys, obviously.”

She smirked over her shoulder. “You just had me half-undressed and unconscious in a dark alley.”

“You did the unconscious part yourself!”

She laughed, still a little weakly.

“See?” Race put a hand on her shoulder. “That means I’s your bodyguard now or somethin’.”

She snickered. “You’s already not keepin’ your hands to yourself.”

“You’s the one runnin’ away!” It was hardly a good argument, but it was what he had.

“I’s going back to Manhattan, like I said.”

“An’ I’s goin’ with you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

* * *

The trolley ride back to Manhattan was quiet. Sure, the fact that the wind whipped away their voices always kept them from having particularly in-depth conversations, but this felt different.

Race knew. He knew Elmer’s real name. He knew she was a girl. He knew everything. Hell he had seen her half-undressed. The thought made her blush. It’s not that she really minded; after all, he hadn’t known, and he had been trying to help. Still, the only other man who had seen that much of her was her father, and even that had been when she was much younger. Was this going to change everything between them?

Did she want it to?

Race, for his part, was acting mostly the same, aside from being a bit more awkward than usual. She supposed that was to be expected. It wasn’t every day one took off a thirteen-year-old boy’s clothes and found fully-developed breasts. He was probably in shock.

Once the trolley reached Manhattan, they hopped off at the first stop.

“So we goin’ to the theata then?” Race asked. “Or you got extra wraps at the lodge house?”

“The theatre,” she said. “You don’t have to come with me. I know the way from here.”

For a second Race looked like he was going to argue, but he just shrugged. “A’right. I’m gonna go poach some of Buttons’ customers.”

“Seeya later, Racer.”

He grabbed the brim of his hat, wiggling it in a sort of tip of farewell, and headed off down the street. She watched him go for a moment as he left. She trusted him; she just didn’t know if that made her an idiot.

She started towards the Bowery, letting her mind drift to nothing in particular as she walked. Her little fainting spell had taken a lot out of her.

Thank God Race had been there.


	7. The Aftermath of Finding Out Your Little Bro Is a Kinda Hot Sixteen-Year-Old Girl

_May 6th, 1899._

Once she got some new fabric from Medda—and an extra strip as well, in case the new one tore—Elmer started back for the lodging house. Her papes had been in Race’s bag, and she wasn’t sure where exactly Buttons sold, so she couldn’t really go find him. It was past noon, anyway, so the time to sell the morning paper was done.

As she headed out of the Bowery, she spotted a familiar, scruffy-looking (nerf-herder) redhead a short ways down the street, leaning against a lamppost and talking to a girl that she didn’t recognize. She shot down a sour stab of jealousy. Albert wasn’t _hers_ by any means, nor could he be, because she was a boy to him and he didn’t like boys that way.

He laughed, and the other girl smiled, and Eleanor hated it.

She could go over there, play the embarrassing little brother role and chase the other girl off, and she almost did. She wanted to. Instead, she leaned against a nearby storefront and waited. She couldn’t let what had happened with Race go to her head. She was a _boy_. She had to be, no matter how good it had felt to be herself for a while.

It was another minute or two before finally Albert tipped his hat, and the girl drifted away. Smiling to himself in a stupid, self-satisfied way, Albert straightened up off the lamppost and turned. He caught sight of Elmer then and nodded upwards in greeting. She nodded back.

“Y’ finally get tired of Racer an’ push ‘im into the bay?” he called, walking over.

“Yeah. I’m sure he’s been swept out to sea, by now,” Elmer replied.

Albert chuckled. “Finally.” He leaned against the storefront next to her, and she ducked her head to hide her rapidly warming cheeks.

“Really though, ‘s a bit early for you to be back from Sheepshead. Everything okay?”

“I wasn’t feeling well,” she confessed. “Race brought me back.”

Albert frowned. “What’re you doin’ out by the Bowery?”

“What are _you_ doin’ out by the Bowery?” she shot back.

He grinned. “Nothin’, just got done sellin’ early.”

Something twisted uncomfortably in Elmer’s stomach. “Who was that girl?”

Albert glanced over his shoulder, as if she was still there, and shrugged. “Dunno, just some girl.”

“What were you talking to her about?”

He grinned again. “Just stuff.”

Elmer smacked him in the arm, not even bothering to hold back. “What kind of stuff?”

“Hey!” he protested, recoiling, but he was clearly amused. “We was just flirtin’ n’ stuff, jeez.”

“What’s her name?”

“Maryann. Why are you so nosy all of a sudden?”

“But I’m always nosy,” Elmer pointed out.

Albert rolled his eyes, but shrugged. “I guess that’s true.”

“She’s pretty,” Elmer said, trying not to let any bitterness seep into her voice.

Albert grinned yet again. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Elmer huffed and turned to continue towards home—she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she started thinking of the lodging house as ‘home’. Perhaps Albert would prefer to follow Maryann.

Elmer was pleased when he fell into step beside her instead. “Y’ still didn’t say what you’s doin’ out here,” he pointed out.

“I was lookin’ for Jack,” she lied, quickly conjuring up a believable story. “I thought he might be at the theatre but he wasn’t, and there’s no kids allowed inside.”

Albert nodded. “Gotcha. He’s usually one of the last back at the lodge between selling hours.”

“Well, I’m going back now.”

“Mind if I walk with ya? I sold Maryann my last pape.”

Despite the unwelcome mention of Maryann, Elmer smiled. “O’course, Al.”

“Good. I was gonna, anyway.”

Elmer laughed and punched him in the arm.

“Hey!” Albert shoved her in return, sending her staggering a few steps to the side.

“Don’t push me!” she whined. “I fainted, earlier!”

He looked at her in surprised concern. “You what?”

“Fainted.” He was probably going to hear it from Race later, anyway. “Tha’s why Race brought me back.”

“Well shit,” he exhaled. “What happened?”

Elmer shrugged. “Got too hot, I guess.”

“Mer, it ain’t that hot out.”

Early on in her stay at the lodge house, the guys had started calling her ‘El’, which had been nice and helped bridge the gap between a lifetime of ‘Eleanor’ and getting used to ‘Elmer’. After a little while, though, Race had declared it ‘confusing’, and ‘too close to Al’ and had started calling her ‘Mer’ instead. It didn’t take long for it to catch on.

“Well, I fainted anyway,” she said, a little defensively.

Albert was clearly concerned. “You been eatin’ enough?” 

“‘M fine, Bert.”

Oh yeah—after ‘Mer’ became a thing, well, two can play at that game. It entirely defeated the purpose, but it was hilarious.

“Does Jack know yet?” Albert asked.

“Not unless Race’s told him.”

He cringed. “He’s gonna freak out. Jack’s real protective with the babies, you know this.”

Elmer rolled her eyes heavily. “I’m not a _baby_.”

“Close enough.”

She grumbled irritably. It was about time for another new kid to come along.

* * *

Race had never seen Albert fuss over someone quite like he fussed over Elmer that afternoon.

“There’s no way in hell you’s sellin’ the evening edition! I’ll take double if I gotta! You’s stayin’ here!”

“An’ Weasel will make you eat that double! I’s fine!”

Albert never offered to sell on anyone’s behalf. He never got protective or tried to parent. Race knew him better than anyone, and this was new entirely. He’d taken a shine to Elmer—Eleanor—like nothing Race had ever seen before, and Race didn’t get why. Did he know? There was no way he knew. Elmer— _Eleanor_ —said it was just Jack, Medda, and now him. Unless Albert knew, and Eleanor didn’t know that he knew. Could he smell it on her or something? Like, gross, but potentially possible.

“Lay down, stupid,” Albert commanded, taking Eleanor’s shoulders and pushing her down onto his bunk. He placed a wet rag on her forehead, as Jack came back with fresh water. Eleanor tried to sit up to talk to him, and Albert, muttering and scolding, pushed her back down again.

It occurred to Race that he was jealous, but he couldn’t figure out which one he was jealous of.

Dropping some muttered excuse as he passed them, Race headed for the door. He needed to clear his head, and there was too much going on in the bunk room for any hope of that. Life in the lodge house got that way sometimes—too crowded to think. Race loved life with the newsies, of course—better than brothers, each and every one of them—but even good things can get to be too much. That’s why most of the newsies had a hideout of some sort, somewhere to get away from the rest of them. Some of them the other boys knew about, but knew not to intrude upon, like Jack’s ‘penthouse’ up on top of the lodging house or Elmer’s barricaded supply closet. Others were a little more properly secret. Race had been going to the cannery on West Street for a few years now, and he was fairly certain none of the others knew about it. Well, they probably knew about the cannery, but they didn’t know about his hideout on the roof. It was a big, boxy, brick building, with a nice view of the water and a conveniently flat rooftop that wasn’t too hard to reach if you got a little creative, and of course, that was just what Race had done. He’d made himself quite the setup, over the years, sneaking up various things he’d found to make it more comfortable—pillows and cushions from a couch someone had left on the edge of the street, scrapped blankets, an old, cracked produce crate to be a makeshift table. He even had a little gas lantern and some waterlogged books that he’d found. It had taken some doing, but he’d managed to get some wooden poles up on the roof and used them to hold up a tarp, with the other ends tied off on some pipe work, to make a little canopy. It didn’t cover much space, but it was better than nothing.

Race flopped onto his back, pulling a pillow over to cushion his head. The sun was at such an angle that the shade provided by the canopy was even less than usual, but there was enough to cover him, if he scooted right up next to the pipework. There was still an hour or two before he needed to worry about getting to the circulation gate, and he intended to spend it sulking. Now that Race knew Elmer was a girl—more importantly, a girl his age—that made everything different, and it was dumb that it made everything different, but it _did_. He was going to have to be careful.

(He would not, in fact, be careful.)

* * *

Elmer didn’t sleep much that night. Race never came home, and while everyone assured her he was probably spending the night in Brooklyn—well, ‘choking on Spot Conlon’s dick’ was the phrase used, but Elmer could extrapolate—she couldn’t help but worry. Was he okay? Was he somewhere safe?

Had he ratted her out to someone?

No, Race wouldn’t do that. It was a paranoid thought, anyway.

Then, of course, there was Albert. Race finding out her secret had starkly reminded Elmer that, no matter how much she pretended to be a little boy, she was a young woman—a young woman with very real feelings for the young man sleeping on the bunk below her. She found herself dreaming of a day when she could be a young woman again. Maybe then, Albert would return her feelings. Maybe he would look at her the same way he looked at Maryann. Maybe he would put his hands on her body, kiss her on that spot below her jaw that Race had told her about.

Oh, yeah. There was Race, too.

Elmer groaned and rolled over, twisting her legs up in her thready blanket and burying her face in her pillow. She didn’t know how long she could do this. She loved the newsies, all of them, with her whole heart. She was one of them—Elmer—but she was still Eleanor, too. Could she be both? What would the other guys do if they found out she was a _she?_ Jack and Race already had. Was it only a matter of time before everyone did? And what would happen then? Would her father and that man still be looking for her, almost two months later?

The very beginnings of the sunrise began to cast a navy blue glow upon Elmer’s sleepless night. She was exhausted, and her chest still ached from yesterday, so she was very much not looking forward to the morning bell. A quarter of an hour or so before it rang, she climbed down from her bunk and crossed to Jack’s. Careful not to wake Crutchie, she climbed part of the way up and poked him. “Jack?” she whispered. “Jack, wake up.”

Jack grunted, and she poked him again. He grunted again, but sat partway up, propped on an elbow. “Wha? Whassamatter?”

“Can I borrow some clothes?” Elmer asked. “You’re bigger than me, and I think if I wear something bigger I won’t have to...you know...”

“Mm, sure.” He nodded blearily, sitting the rest of the way up. Elmer hopped back down, and he followed slowly. The bell would ring any minute, so she didn’t feel too badly about waking him up, and besides, she really needed his help. She didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.

“You been doin’ alright, El?” Jack asked as he pulled a shirt out of the trunk at the end of his bunk.

“Except yesterday...” She glanced around to make sure everyone else was still asleep, then leaned in close and whispered to Jack. “Race knows.”

Jack looked at her in surprise. “What? How?”

“When I fainted, I was havin’ trouble breathin’, so he...” She mimed opening her shirt.

Jack’s eyes widened in further surprise, and maybe a touch of anger.

Eleanor shrugged. “He didn’t know...he does, now”.

Jack exhaled lowly. “I guess that’s one way to find out… Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“Good. Racer’s a good guy; he won’t snitch,” he affirmed. “He’s a good one to have in your corner.”

Before the conversation could continue, the morning bell rang, and the room erupted into the usual groans and curses of waking newsies.

“Countdown to Race?” Mush asked blearily.

“Didn’t come back last night,” Jack responded.

“Thank god,” Finch muttered from his bunk.

Elmer certainly didn’t share the sentiment, but the fact that none of them were concerned was at least a little bit comforting.

Jack handed her a gray shirt. “Here you go, Mer.”

“Thanks.” She took it and headed for her closet. Once safely shut inside, she changed out of her night clothes and rewrapped her chest, leaving it much looser than normal. She found herself wishing that she could gain back the weight she had lost since running away, so her chest would blend better with the rest of her. Unfortunately, regular meals were a thing of the past, and hard work was very much a thing of the present. Luckily, with Jack’s shirt and her vest on, you couldn’t see her waist much.

She headed back into the hall, stopping off in the bathroom to wash off her face with cold water, then fell into line with her fellow newsies on the way to circulation. Race didn’t show up till they reached the yard, blowing a raspberry and kicking some gravel at Oscar and Morris as he strolled through the gate, only a bit behind the last of the newsies.

Elmer and Albert headed his way, and Race nodded upwards in greeting. “Hey.”

“Spend the night across the river, again?” Albert asked.

“Nah, just didn’t feel like company,” he answered vaguely.

Elmer frowned slightly. She couldn’t help but feel like that must have been her fault. Was Race mad at her for lying?

“Well come on, boys, let’s go.” Race ushered them towards the line of newsies collecting their morning papes.

The words he said commonly enough sounded particularly intentional today, and Elmer almost thought she heard a bit of an emphasis on ‘boys’, though it was probably her imagination. She tried not to overthink it as she fell into line between him and Albert. It was just another day, and she couldn’t afford to attract questions by acting like it was anything else. They collected their papers with only minimal fuss from Race trying to cut a deal with Wiesel; he had the money for it, he was just being an ass, as usual. It was only once they started away from the stand that Race turned to El.

“Hey, why don’t you sell with Jojo today?”

Her heart sank. “Why?”

“Oh, I just, uh, have some other stuff I need to do. Personal type stuff.”

“Oh.” Elmer fidgeted with her fingernails. “Okay, I can find a spot for myself...”

“Nah, you don’t need to go wanderin’ on your own,” he amended quickly. “Jojo’s got plenty to share.”

“Everyone else goes by themself, ‘cept Mike an’ Ike.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you want...”

It wasn’t. What she wanted was to go with Race or Albert, but neither of them wanted her. Race didn’t even think she was ready to sell on her own, he just wanted her gone.

“No,” she replied indignantly, “I’ll go with Jojo.” _Jojo will want me. Jojo and I will do better than you and I ever did_.

He nodded, seeming relieved. “‘Kay, good.” He looked up. “Hey, Jo! You good with takin’ Mer for a while?”

“What for?” Jojo called, heading towards them regardless.

“I just got other stuff to do,” Race replied, still not sounding very convincing.

Jojo either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Sure, I could use the kid.”

“Alright,” Race clapped him on the shoulder appreciatively, and cast an awkward glance back to Elmer. “I’m off then.”

“Seeya, Race,” Elmer said quietly.

Race touched two fingers to the lip of his hat in an almost salute of farewell, and headed out of the gate. Elmer sighed dejectedly. Maybe this was temporary. Maybe Race really did just have something to take care of.


	8. One (1) Month of Unbearable Sexual Tension

_May 12th, 1899._

“One hundred papes _each!_ ” Elmer announced proudly, sitting on the table at Jacobi’s, drinking a water for lunch.

“Bullshit,” Jack argued. “You each only bought fifty this morning. I saw you.”

“We went back.”

“What do you mean, you went back?”

“We both sold out, went back, and bought more!” Jojo explained, playfully punching Elmer on the shoulder.

“Holy shit,” Tommy Boy groaned. “Who’s idea was it to let the smiliest newsies in New York sell together?”

He was right, and Race was a fool. Elmer and Jojo had gotten on like a wildfire; that was the whole point of pawning her off on him—so Race could try and clear his head—but now, instead of clear, he just felt jealous. Again. Of _Jojo_. It was absolutely absurd.

Then, Elmer laughed at something Jojo said, and Race felt a tightness in his chest that wasn’t just jealousy. Her laugh, her smile, her hair, her eyes—God, how had he not noticed earlier? It’s easy to miss something you’re not looking for, but now that he knew, he couldn’t stop seeing it; she was a girl, and not just a girl—a _beautiful_ girl.

She glanced over towards Race and he looked away quickly, hoping no one had noticed him staring. This was bad, this was very bad.

“You alright, Race?”

He looked up at Finch. “What? I’m fine.”

Finch shrugged. “You seem a little weird.”

“Ain’t I always?” Race covered feebly.

“I guess.”

Race glanced briefly at Elmer again. She was looking down at her lap, picking at a loose string on her pants. She wasn’t smiling anymore. He wondered if something was wrong, and moreover, what he could do to make it better if it was. The horrible fact of the matter was that, while he was undeniably and infuriatingly attracted to her, he had loved her first.

* * *

_May 17th, 1899._

“Is Race mad at me?”

Albert looked up at the underside of the bunk above him. “What?”

Elmer was peering over the edge. It was super creepy, to be honest. “He’s barely spoken to me since he pawned me off on Jo. He’s barely looked at me. It’s been more than a week, now. I just wondered...”

“I dunno. Have ya asked him?”

“He won’t let me get close enough to ask him,” Elmer grumbled, flipping over onto his back.

“Hmm...” Albert got up and stood by the side of the bunk, resting his chin on his crossed arms and his arms on Elmer’s mattress. “Did’ja do somethin’?”

Elmer sighed. “No.”

“You sure? You can be pretty annoying.” he teased, hiding his smirk in his arms.

Elmer smacked him, but he was smiling a little.

“Whaaat?” Albert complained. “Not everyone is as patient as I am!”

“You kicked me out of your spot, too!”

“Yeah, well, even I got my limits.”

Elmer huffed and rolled over, facing away from Albert.

“Aww c’mon, Mer, what was I supposed to do?” Albert reached out to poke at his ribs. “You was stealin’ all my customers!”

“You wasn’t workin’ hard enough to keep ‘em!” Elmer argued.

“Not my fault I can’t compete with the likes of you.”

He giggled, and Albert cracked a smile. Aside from the cute baby face, Elmer was a damn good newsie. He just had a way with people. Everyone fell for his goofy charms, no matter what. They just couldn’t help it.

“Race can’t avoid you forever,” Albert offered. “Just corner him and ask what’s goin’ on.”

Elmer sighed again. “Okay.”

“I’m sure it’s nothin’. He’s probably just being a bitch.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bert.”

“Want me to beat him up for you, first?” he teased.

Elmer giggled some more. “Nah.”

“You sure? I could make it look like an accident, push him down the stairs or something.”

“Don’t!” Then, Elmer grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “I like his face.”

Albert quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, but didn’t push. “Alright,” he said, climbing back into his own bunk. “Lemme know if you change your mind.”

* * *

_May 25th, 1899._

Despite taking Albert’s advice to heart, it was a week before Elmer actually managed to catch up to Race on his way to Jacobi’s at lunch. “Hey, Racer!” she called, jogging over to him as he made his way away from the trolley stop.

Race looked at her in slight surprise. “Oh. Hey, Mer.”

“Hey.” She smiled. “How’s Brooklyn, today?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugged, then frowned a bit. “Was you waitin’ for me or somethin’?”

“No,” she lied. She had broken away from Jojo early specifically for this purpose.

“Okay...” 

She got the distinct feeling he had been about to say ‘good’, and she frowned, averting her gaze away from him. Fuck, she _missed_ him, but how could she fix this if she didn’t even know what was wrong, and he wouldn’t talk to her?

“I’d like to go back, someday,” she said. “To Sheepshead, I mean. I liked...” _I liked being with you_. “...it.”

“Wh— Oh yeah, sure,” Race agreed quickly, but it sounded a lot more like him agreeing that Sheepshead was nice, as opposed to agreeing that she could sell with him again. “It’s great, sure. No one’s giving you any trouble with Jojo?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

“What?” she asked. “No, Jojo’s great.”

He nodded. “‘Kay good. You tell me if anyone’s givin’ you shit.”

That brought a little smile to her face. “Of course, I will.”

“Good.” He took half a step backwards, bouncing a little in place. “I should go, I uh, gotta meet a guy for...somethin’.”

Elmer stepped forward. “What about lunch?” she asked, desperate to keep him a little longer.

“Oh, I can eat later,” he said evasively.

“Race!”

“What?” He stopped his retreat to actually look at her.

“Is everything okay?” she asked nervously. “You’ve been—”

“Busy,” he said quickly. “I just been busy.”

She sighed. “Right. Busy.”

For a second he looked like he was going to say something sincere—maybe an explanation, or at least an apology, but instead he shrugged and offered a cheeky grin. “What can I say? Everyone wants me, an’ I only got so much time.” And with a little tip of his hat, he was walking away from her again.

Elmer didn’t go to Jacobi’s, that day.

* * *

_June 1st, 1899._

Race usually went outside to smoke. It wasn’t so much that it bothered the others, or even that he cared if it did; it was more the years of habit growing up. Cigarettes were some of the easiest things to nick from unsuspecting customers at the brothel, and no one in there cared much what he did, so Race started smoking pretty young. While the madam didn’t care if he smoked, she did care if he did it inside—said it was ‘rude’ and ‘left a stink about the place’, as if you could smell anything in there over the lust and cheap perfume.

It was just getting properly dark out, and everyone was getting ready for bed, so Race decided to nip out the back window and take a seat on the edge of the fire escape, letting his legs hang over into the open air as he lit his cigar. It was a nice night—warm, with a slight breeze. He took a slow drag on his cigar, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment and enjoying the heavy warmth of it before letting it out again.

Normally, he liked the quiet contemplation of the evening, but lately, all it brought was thoughts of Eleanor.

He wanted her, and he didn’t really like that he wanted her. He _couldn’t_ want her; she was supposed to be his little buddy! Elmer! She was Albert’s buddy, too. Oh, and he didn’t even want to get started on the Albert situation and all the unresolved tension and wanting and jealousy there. He was busy trying to decide if he should take his sexual frustration out on Spot Conlon when the window behind him slid open.

Race glanced back over his shoulder to see none other than the object of his hormone-induced breakdown herself climbing out onto the fire escape and closing the window behind her.

Race stifled a groan. “Hey, Mer.”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“What?” Race frowned, standing up and heading towards the ladder. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“You’re lying!” Elmer sounded really upset. “You’re walking away from me, right now!”

“I’m not walking away!” he argued, already halfway down the ladder.

Elmer chased after him. “It’s been almost a month, Anthony! I thought we were friends!”

“We are friends!” He continued in a grumbled, “That’s the problem”

Elmer stopped at the bottom of the ladder, looking absolutely wounded. “What?”

Ah shit, she wasn’t supposed to hear that. He groaned. “We _are_ friends, El.”

“If you want me to leave you alone, just say so,” she argued. “Stop pretending. Just tell me—what did I ever do to you?”

“You didn’t do anything! It’s just that—”

“What?” She lowered her voice. “Is it because I’m a girl? Is that it?”

“Well no, not _entirely_ —”

“Because that’s not fair! I’m sorry I lied, but I didn’t have a choice!”

“Wh— it’s not about _that_ ,” Race sputtered.

“What is it about, then?” She stepped up to him, toe to toe. “Say what you mean, Higgins. Be a fuckin’ man and say what you mean!”

At this point, Race had had just about enough. He was flustered and frustrated, and she kept getting nearer and louder, and he couldn’t take it anymore, so he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned, pushing her against the wall of the alley, and kissed her.

*****

Eleanor had never really been kissed, before. Not like this. He heart was hammering in her chest, her entire body tense to the point of crumbling. Race’s mouth was hot against hers. She liked it. God, she really, really liked it.

Slowly, her body relaxed, and she experimentally moved her lips, parting them slightly around Race’s. Race groaned quietly against her mouth, and moved one of his hands from her arm up to her jaw, gripping lightly and tilting her face up, more towards his. She willingly followed his lead, carefully settling her hands on his sides. She felt him tense up as she touched him, though he didn’t stop kissing her, rather tilting his head just a bit to deepen it. She let out a soft noise of surprise. If this was what kissing a man was like, she never wanted to do anything else ever again.

Race seemed to take the noise as encouragement. Opening his mouth a little wider, he brushed his tongue across her bottom lip, then pulled back just a breath, and moved his thumb over the same spot, applying a light pressure to guide her to open her mouth further, that his tongue could slip inside. It was weird at first, but it didn’t take long for her to realize she liked that too—the taste of him, the closeness. He tasted mostly of cigar smoke and salt, but it was _good_. It didn’t last, though. He pulled away from her mouth, breathing heavily, and ducked down, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck instead. She gasped, collapsing back against the wall, grabbing onto one of his shoulders for support. He wrapped an arm around her waist, between the curve of her back and the wall, and pressed closer. He kissed her neck again, a little higher up, and then again, trailing upwards till he reached the spot just behind the hinge of her jaw. She moaned, then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. For a moment he stopped, and she could feel his mouth shape a grin against her neck.

“Bastard,” she laughed breathlessly.

Race snickered, and straightened up to kiss her mouth again. This time, she rested her arms over his shoulders and leaned into him. The kiss was harder now, more demanding. Then he slid his leg between hers, pressing his thigh against her. She gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders again. No one had ever touched her there before, and it felt good, but it made her head a little fuzzy.

Race mumbled nonsense against her lips between kisses, and she felt his fingers wander over the buttons of her shirt.

Elmer suddenly became aware that they were just out in the alley beside the lodging house, where anyone could walk out and see at any moment. She took his hand. “Wait, Racer—” He pulled back to look at her face, and she shook her head. “We can’t— The guys, they—”

“O-oh… You don’t want—… Right,” he stammered, flushing slightly as he took a step back.

She absolutely _did_ , just not right there, not right then, so she blinked at him like an idiot instead of answering.

“Right,” he said again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

After a brief hesitation—during which Elmer still didn’t say anything, because she still hadn’t really processed what had happened or how she felt or how much she wanted it to still be happening—Race muttered another apology, headed quickly back up the fire escape, and disappeared through the window. Elmer slumped back against the wall, pressing her fingers gently against her lips.

Holy shit.

That was...wow.

This was going to change everything.


	9. Bad Things Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...or do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got my Tumblr fixed up for my writing, so you can find me now at @waitingformy-fanfiction!

It didn’t.

_ June 4th, 1899. _

For the next three days, Race tried harder than ever to avoid Elmer, to the point of straight up fleeing his seat at Jacobi’s on Sunday, when she walked in with Jojo. Of course, everyone noticed, so now she was confused, hurt, angry,  _ and _ humiliated. Race had no right to treat her this way, and her patience was wearing thin.

“What’s up with him?” Jojo asked her, sounding rather concerned.

“I’m going to find out,” she grumbled, and she stormed out after Race.

If she’d waited a minute more, she would’ve had no idea where he’d gone, as it was, she saw him turn the corner at the end of the block and head towards the meatpacking district. She ran after him, but slowed down well before she reached him and followed him at a distance. After a couple minutes walk, she realized he was headed for the docks. What—was he going to go drown himself to avoid having to be around her? With a quiet, disgruntled grumble, Elmer sped up, determined to catch him before he did something stupid or found someone else to talk to. He cut across the pier and, to her surprise, headed up the stairs of a boxy factory building on the edge of the water. Maybe he had some sort of secret, second job that was taking up all his time.

Once he reached the landing, she expected him to open the door and head inside, or at the very least knock. She did  _ not _ expect him to hop up on the railing, casual as anything, and reach out over the edge to grab a hold of the rain spout that was attached to the side of the building. With a step out, over the open air, he was on the spout, and he began to climb, using it like a ladder. She watched, terrified that he would fall, but he moved with the ease of one well practiced in spout climbing, and it was only a short ways till he could grab ahold of the lip of the roof and hoist himself up over the edge.

She took a steadying breath and followed, carefully retracing his steps. Climbing the spout was easier than she expected, but harder—and scarier—than she liked. When she reached the top, Race was nowhere to be seen. However, further onto the roof, there was a large assemblage of pipe work, and from this angle, she could see there was a makeshift canopy tied off on it. He had to be there.

“Is this where you keep running off to?” she asked.

From the direction of the canopy, there was a  _ clunk  _ and a surprised yelp. Elmer crossed her arms and glared as Race appeared around the corner of the pipes. “Jesus, you followin’ me? How’d you even get up here!?”

“Same way you did, and yeah, I am,” Elmer huffed.

“What the hell for?” he demanded.

“Because you’re avoiding me!” She stormed up to him. “Still!”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to avoid you if you wasn’t following me!” he shot back, standing his ground.

“Well, you can’t just—just—do what you did the other night and then run off and not talk to me again! That ain’t fair!”

He sputtered indignantly. “You didn’t want it! I backed off!”

“We were right next to the lodging house! Anyone could have seen!”

“Everyone was sleepin’!”

“You don’t know that! We weren’t!” She shook her head. “God, if you regret it, just say so!”

“Who says I regret it!?”

“Why else would you be runnin’?”

“I thought I upset you!”

“You—” Elmer exclaimed wordlessly in frustration, placed her hands on Race’s cheeks, and haphazardly pressed their lips together.

Race hummed in muffled surprise, but quickly responded, catching her waist in his hands and pulling her closer as he kissed back.

It was just as good the second time. Probably better. Definitely better. Elmer still wasn’t entirely sure what to do, so she experimentally grazed her teeth over Race’s bottom lip, exploring. He made a noise somewhere between a hum and a growl, and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. She stumbled a little bit at this shift in weight, and he moved to wrap one arm fully around her, holding her against him as he brought his other hand up to tangle his fingers in her hair, knocking her hat off in doing so. She might have laughed, if she had been able to focus on anything other than the places where his hands and lips touched her body. She hummed softly, eyes fluttering, as he worked his mouth against hers. Without breaking the kiss, Race shifted, allowing more space between them, and moved a hand to the buttons of Elmer’s vest. This time, she didn’t stop him.

Everything happened fast after that, in a lightheaded haze of lips, hands, and skin on skin. She could hear her mother’s voice in the back of her mind telling her to to stop, that this was wrong, that she was doing a Bad Thing, that only her husband was supposed to see this much of her. It didn’t feel Bad though, and besides, Race had already seen this much of her, so she didn’t stop him. She didn’t stop him as he removed her vest, suspenders, shirts, and the bandages around her chest. She didn’t stop him as he touched and kissed every inch of her exposed skin. She didn’t stop him as he guided her down into his little nest, took off her shoes, and pulled her pants and underwear down over her hips.

She didn’t stop him at all.

It didn’t hurt, the way she thought it would; it just felt strange, and she didn’t like it at first, but she quickly changed her mind. She liked the sound of her name—her real name, Eleanor—tumbling breathlessly from his lips. She liked the weight of him pressing her into the blankets. Soon, as she got used to it, she liked what he was doing to her body. It didn’t feel like such a Bad Thing when it was with him.

She didn’t know how long it lasted. Time didn’t make sense, and she couldn’t think about anything other than the myriad of brand new physical sensations she had never felt before, but then it was over, and he was kissing her again, hard and desperate, like he would die if he didn’t. After another moment, he rolled off of her, to lay on his side on the cushions beside her, and brought a hand up to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“You’s beautiful, Eleanor,” he said quietly. “I ain’t said it before ‘cause, well, ‘cause I ain’t been able to, but you is.”

He breath caught in her throat. No one had called her ‘beautiful’ since her mother died.

“You alright?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “I didn’t hurt you or nothin?”

“No,” she said tiredly. “I mean yes, I’m alright.”

He nodded. “Good.” After a quiet moment he spoke again, almost sheepishly. “I’ve never actually done it all the way before.”

“Me either,” she said, stupidly. They both knew that neither of them had ever done it before.

“Did you...” Now he definitely sounded sheepish. “Did you like it?”

She nodded. “Did you?”

Race nodded as well.

Eleanor rolled over onto her side and reached out to trail her fingers, featherlight, over Race’s face—his big, blue eyes, his kiss-reddened lips, his smooth, pale skin. “You’s beautiful too, Racer,” she told him, barely a whisper.

He chuckled quietly. “Yeah, sure.”

“You are,” she insisted.

“I guess I can’t really try an’ argue ya got bad taste,” he teased, “since ya like the same guy I do.”

“Maybe we both have bad taste.”

He laughed lightly. “Rude.”

His laugh left a little flutter behind in Eleanor’s chest. She glanced from his eyes to his lips and back, then back again. She cupped Race’s jaw and pulled him in, slotting their mouths together like puzzle pieces. He hummed in quiet surprise, but quickly kissed back.

She thought, rather absently for something so groundbreaking, that she might be falling in love with him. That’s what they had just done, right? Made love? That was what her mother called it. She wondered if Race felt the same way, and considered asking, but decided not to, in case that ruined it somehow. She couldn’t risk losing him again, when she’d just gotten him back.


	10. Jealousy (TURNING SAINTS INT—)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elmer, Albert, and Race try to puzzle out a new normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now THAT’S out of the way, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

_ June 20th, 1899. _

Albert didn’t know what happened to make Race and Elmer go from barely speaking for a month back to best friends in the span of a couple hours, and he didn’t care; he was just glad it happened, because it saved him the trouble of having to smack the shit out of them. The last couple weeks, they’d been closer than ever. Elmer still sold with JoJo most of the time, because they made a damn good team, but he also started selling by himself, sometimes. At lunch, he would meet up with Albert or drape himself over Race at Jacobi’s. He started up a somewhat less-than-friendly rivalry with Mush, and all of a sudden, he wasn’t Albert and Race’s little apprentice anymore. It was kind of sad, in a weird way. Maybe that’s what prompted Albert to ask him to sell together, one warm Saturday afternoon after lunch.

“C’mon,” he said, lightly punching Elmer’s shoulder, “it’ll be like old times.”

“Gettin’ desperate?” Elmer teased, grinning. “Need a cute little kid to boost ya sales?”

Albert rolled his eyes. “I was  _ tryin’ _ to be nice.”

“Don’t be shy. I’ll help ya out.” Elmer stuck his tongue out. “Where ya sellin’ these days?”

“I been workin’ a few streets in Flushing.”

He adjusted his hat. “A’right, let’s go.”

Albert got up from his seat and smacked the lip of Elmer’s hat, knocking it crooked again as he passed, heading for the door.

“Hey, Race!” Elmer called. “Race ya to circulation.”

“Oh, you’re on, punk!” Race shouted as he whizzed by, and Elmer chased him just far enough before stopping, snickering.

Albert snorted. “That idiot’s gonna run all the way there.”

“I know.” Elmer fell back into step with Albert as Albert reached him. “It’s good for him to get all his energy out.”

Albert snorted again. “What, you the Racer expert now?”

Elmer smiled mischievously. “Maybe.”

They headed to circulation and picked up fifty evening papes each, then started out, Albert leading the way.

“It’s a bit of a walk to Flushing,” he said, “but not as bad as all the way to Sheepshead.”

Elmer nodded. “I don’t miss that trek. Can’t even sell along the way, on a trolley.”

“Have you tried just chucking the paper at folks as you pass?”

“They don’t pay, that way!”

“Yeah, I guess that sorta defeats the whole point,” Albert conceded.

As if they had somehow been privy to the conversation, a couple of men down the road beckoned to them. “Hey, newsboys.”

“Hey, Mer, how about you take them?” Albert tried to elbow Elmer in the side, only to catch thin air. Confused, he stopped and looked back to find Elmer a few stepped behind, looking for all the world like he’d just seen a ghost. Albert frowned. “Mer?”

Elmer unfroze, but instead of going back to normal, he darted into the nearest alley like his heels were on fire.

“What the…?” Albert’s frown deepened, and he started to take a step to follow, but he was intercepted by the two men, who had made their way over.

“We’ll each take a paper.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Albert reached into his bag quickly and grabbed two papers, offering them to the men.

One of them paid with a nickel, “Keep the change,” and they were off.

As soon as the transaction was complete, Albert turned on his heels and walked quickly the way Elmer had disappeared. Elmer wasn’t immediately visible in the alley, but there were a number of trash cans and fire escapes to hide behind.

“Hey Mer?” Albert called. “They’s gone, where’d you go?”

“They’s gone?”

Albert turned towards the trash can the reply had come from—no, from behind. “Yeah, what the hell was that?”

Elmer climbed out from behind the trash can and glanced around nervously.

“Elmer, what’s going on?” Albert demanded.

Elmer looked towards the mouth of the alley, then back at Albert. “That was my Papa.”

Albert’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

Elmer nodded. Now that he mentioned it, there was a slight resemblance between Elmer and one of the men.

“Holy shit,” Albert muttered. “I thought your folks was dead?”

“My mama’s dead and my papa’s dead to me,” Elmer grumbled.

“Well damn. Didn’t seem like he recognized you though. Guess you ran before he got a good look.”

Elmer nodded again.

“...You wanna talk or somethin’?” Albert asked, unsure what else to do.

Elmer shook his head.

“Oookay… Y’wanna go sell an’ pretend it never happened?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I guess so.”

“You got something else in mind?” Albert asked. The poor kid seemed pretty rattled.

“No. Let’s go.”

After they had been walking for a bit again, Elmer seemed to relax, and Albert couldn’t help but ask. “So, what happened? With your father, I mean.”

Elmer hesitated for a long moment, looking down at his feet. “He got in some debt,” he said finally. “That guy who was with him? He owed him, but he didn’t have any money to give him.”

“Okay?” Albert prompted.

Elmer frowned deeply. “He gave him me, instead. Tried to, anyway. I ran away.”

Albert looked at him in surprise. “Oh, holy shit.”

“I don’t know why they’re still together, if they’re not still looking for me,” Elmer said, so quietly it was probably to himself.

Albert frowned, he didn’t like the sound of that. “Well hey, maybe you an’ me start sellin’ together again. I can help you keep an eye out.”  _ And help keep you safe _ .

“Yeah,” Elmer said. “That might be best.”

* * *

_ June 27th, 1899. _

It was hard to find time during the day to sneak off with Race. There were always papes to be sold or other newsies around, and it was impossible to get a minute where it was just the two of them. There were stolen moments in alleyways, or the brush of a hand when no one else was looking, but that wasn’t what Elmer really wanted. After dark was the only time they really had. Not every night, but sometimes, when she knew he would be there, Elmer would sneak away to Race’s hideout on the cannery rooftop to meet him there. This was one of those nights. The summer air was hot and sticky, and they had both stripped down to their underclothes. Elmer laid with her head in Race’s lap while he read a spare pape.

“So, you and Al started sellin’ together again?” Race asked absently, working his fingers idly through Elmer’s hair.

She looked up at him. “Yeah.”

“How’s that going?”

“Good,” she told him. “I don’t sell as well with him as I did with Jo. I think it’s the spot, though.”

Race hummed, flipping to the next page of the paper. “Could just be everyone getting scared off by his grumpy face.”

Elmer snickered. “I like Al’s face!”

Race scoffed indignantly. “I thought you liked  _ my _ face!”

“What? I do!”

“Not as much as you like Albert’s.” He pouted.

Elmer sputtered in confusion and sat up. “What?”

Rather than answering her, he just grumbled nonsense for a second and then frowned more.

“Are you...jealous of Al?” she asked.

“No!” He replied much too quickly and much too indignantly.

Elmer huffed. “That’s ridiculous, Race.”

“I ain’t jealous!” he protested, though he most certainly was.

Elmer turned, tossing one of her legs over Race’s so she ended up straddling his thighs. “So I sells with Albert. What of it? I do a lotta other stuff with you.”

Race pouted regardless. “You better not start ignorin’ me, now that he’s givin’ you attention again.”

Elmer sputtered some more. “He never stopped giving me attention, he kicked me out of his selling spot, and so did you!”

“I only kicked you out cause I liked you!” Race protested, like that made any sense.

Elmer huffed and shifted herself out of Race’s lap to stand up. “I dunno why you’s bein’ like this, Racer. You don’t own me.”

Now,  _ he _ sputtered. “Who ever said I do!?”

“Then why are you bein’ like this?”

“Bein’ like what!?” he asked, standing up as well.

“You know,” Elmer said. “You’re being impossible.” She walked a little bit away, looking out towards the river, and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to fight with Race again. They’d been doing so well.

He scoffed. “I said I like you, and now you’s mad at me, and  _ I’s _ the one being impossible?”

“You’s mad that I’m selling with our best friend!”

“I ain’t mad about nothin’!” Race protested. “I don’t wanna get left out!”

“Then sell with us,” Elmer said.

“That’s not what I mean,” Race grumbled.

She tossed her hands in the air. “What do you mean, then?”

He muttered something evasive, and she only managed to cast the last bit, which sounded a lot like ‘like him better than me…’

Elmer sighed. “Racer.”

“What?” he huffed.

“You don’t need to be jealous,” she insisted.

“Can ya really blame me that I am?”

She sighed again as she walked back over to him and draped her arms over his shoulders. “Well, yeah. Al don’t see as much a’ me as you do. Al don’t even know I’s a girl.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Race grumbled.

Elmer rolled her eyes, even as she laid her head on his shoulder and brushed her lips against the side of his neck. “C’mon, Race, don’t be mad.”

He huffed again, but slung his arms around her waist and pulled her up against him in a loose embrace anyway.

Elmer slid one hand down to fiddle with the collar of his shirt. “I ain’t gonna stop selling with Al.”

“I know,” Race answered. “Ain’t my right to ask ya to.”

Elmer pulled back to look at him. “I don’t wanna stop whatever this is,” she gestured between them, “either.”

This brought a little, crooked smile to Race’s face. “Me neither.”


	11. Carrying the Banner

_ July 18th, 1899 _ .

“Ey, Specs!” Jack shouted. “Racer, Henry, Albert, Elmer, get a move on! Them papes won’t sell themselves!”

Elmer groaned, rolling over to bury her face in her pillow. The past few weeks had been increasingly hot, as days are wont to be in the middle of the summer, and it was wearing her out. The other guys handled it much better, and JoJo assured her she would get used to it, but fuck, she was exhausted.

“Hey,  _ Al _ bert,  _ El _ mer,  _ Specs _ , you heard Jack! Get a move on!” came Race’s cry from the hallway, and Albert rolled out of bed with a loud groan, while Elmer continued smothering herself. She heard the door open, and moments later, Albert’s voice in the hall.

“I was having the most beautiful dream,” he complained to Race. “My lips are still tinglin’.”

“Ooh, a pretty girl?” Race teased, and Albert replied, “A leg, of lamb.”

Elmer snorted into her pillow, then jumped half a mile when Race suddenly screeched, “ _ Hey! _ That’s my cigar!”

Well, she was awake. With another groan, she climbed down off her bunk and set about gathering clothes for the day.

“Who you sellin’ with today?” Jojo asked her. She mostly sold with Albert now, since the whole ‘bodyguard’ thing started, but every now and then she still went with Jojo, and he always asked, every morning.

She hummed thoughtfully. “Well, Al’s spot kinda stinks recently. Mind if I go with you?”

Jojo beamed. “Nah, that’s fine.”

“Alright.” She headed out into the hallway and started towards her closet. “Hey Al, I’m sellin’ with Jo, today. Enjoy your shitty spot.”

Albert made a rude gesture at her as she walked away, and she snickered at him, closing herself into the closet to change clothes. She pulled the thready shirt she’d been wearing to sleep off over her head, then cringed as she began to unwrap her chest. She’d been doing it for four months, and while she had gotten considerably better at it, bruises were constant, and the discomfort only seemed to be getting worse.

She had known from the beginning that this wasn’t a long-term solution. The only long-term solution would be to buy a train ticket out of Manhattan, but she hadn’t saved up nearly enough money. Then, there was the problem of the Newsies—they were her friends, and she didn’t want to leave them, but what could she do? Race knew about her being a girl, and Albert knew about her father. Maybe, together, they could pool enough money for all three of them to escape...but what about Jojo? What about Jack? What about all the others?

She sighed and began to dress herself for the day, biting her tongue to draw her attention away from the pain on her chest. She threw on a vest over a striped, short-sleeved undershirt and her most comfortable, high-waisted pants, donned her newsboy cap, then ran to catch up with Jojo and the other guys.

They made their way to circulation, swinging by the church to see if the nuns had any food to share. Today, the fare was stale bread and coffee, but Elmer wasn’t about to complain. It was hot, and she was hungry. She tossed an extra smile to the nun who had rescued her, all those months ago. “Thanks for the grub, Sister.”

The nun straightened up and pointed at her. “Elmer, when are we going to see ya  _ inside _ the church?” she asked in her lilting accent.

Elmer snickered. “I dunno, Sister, but it’s bound to rain sooner or later.”

The nun looked put out, although begrudgingly amused, and the other newsies laughed  ~~ as Race began a counter melody that was surprisingly sweet compared to his usual, delightfully jarring singing. ~~

One of the other nuns came around with a kettle and another with a tray of mugs. “Coffee, Elmer?”

She nodded. “Just give me half a cup. Thank you.” She needed the caffeine, but the coffee wasn’t very good. Actually, it was bad. The last time she’d had an entire mug, she’d thrown it up before she even made it to circulation.

“It’s gonna be a hot one today,” Specs observed, wiping his brow.

Elmer nodded, taking a drink of coffee and grimacing. At least it wasn’t hot. She would probably curse that fact in the winter, but today, she appreciated the lukewarm temperature.

“Hope it’s a good headline today,” Romeo said, frowning at the sludgy contents of his cup.

“The sky is blue,” Blink sighed, “the sun rises in the West, we all hope it’s a good headline.”

“The sun rises in the East, shit-for-brains,” Mush grumbled.

“Well, maybe if they put that in the papes, I’d know it!” Blink complained, swatting at the lip of Mush’s hat to knock it off his head.

“Why would they put the sun rising in the papes?” Jojo asked, amused, and Blink retorted, “They put the weather in the papes!”

“That’s cause the weather changes, stupid!” Race snickered, coming up to drape his arm over Elmer’s shoulders.

Elmer leaned into his side, snickering at Blink.

“Well, I wouldn’t  _ be _ so stupid if they put more things in the papes!” Blink insisted.

“The sun rising in the East’d be bigger news today than the trolley strike,” Elmer said, more to Race than anyone else.

Race huffed. “Boy, I hear that.”

One by one, the newsies got their bread and coffee and headed for circulation. By all accounts, it was a very normal day. The headline sucked—‘Trolley Strike Enters Third Week’. Whoop-di-doo—Jack got into a minor altercation with the Delancey brothers at the gate, but they fuckin’ deserved it. Elmer fell into line right behind Albert and Jojo.

“Jack thinks we oughta try sellin’ somewhere else,” Jojo told her. “Maybe up by Central Park?”

Elmer shrugged. “Sure. Works for—”

“Have a look at this,” Weisel’s voice cut through their conversation. “A new kid.”

A young voice piped up, “I’m new, too!”

Elmer gasped lightly. “I’m not New Kid, anymore?”

“It’s your lucky day,” Jojo snickered, bumping his shoulder against hers.

She bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet. “Can I get a  _ real _ nickname, now?”

“Now we can just call you ‘Mer’,” he teased.

“But you already call me ‘Mer’!”

“What? That’s a real nickname!” Jojo protested. “‘Sides, we can’t hardly call ya ‘El’—‘s too much like ‘Al’. He turned to appeal to Albert, just ahead of him in line. “Right?”

“Right,” Albert said, turning to join their conversation and lightly batting Jojo’s chest with his hands, “an’ I was here foist.”

“Albert,” Weisel snapped, “lemme see ya money.”

Albert quickly turned back towards him. “You have a very interesting face,” he said, and Jojo whipped around towards Elmer, choking on a laugh.

Elmer’s eyes widened slightly in amusement. What kind of an opener was that?  _ You have a very interesting face!? _

“Ever think about get’in’t movin’ pictures?” Albert continued, leaning on the coin box on the stack of papes.

Weisel looked pleased. “You really think I could?”

“Sure,” Albert replied with a shit eating grin. “Buy a ticket; they let anyone in!”

Everyone—except, of course, Weisel—burst into laughter as Albert slammed his coin down on the box and grabbed his papes from Oscar. Elmer couldn’t stop grinning, as is often the case when one’s crush does or says something particularly funny.

“I’m sorry, excuse me,” the new kid spoke up. “I paid for twenty, but you gave me nineteen.”

Elmer watched in a mixture of awe and horror as the new kid argued politely, but firmly with Weisel and Oscar about the number of papes they had given him, until Jack stepped in and settled it—“You gave him nineteen. Hey, I’m sure it’s an honest mistake on account’a Oscar can’t count to twenty with his shoes on.”—at which point everyone went on with their days.

“So, Central Park?” Elmer asked Jojo after procuring her papes.

“Sure thing,” Jojo confirmed, putting his papers in his bag.

They started north towards the park, and Elmer pulled a paper out of her bag to fan herself with.

“I’m just curious, Mer,” Jojo began, “why don’t you ever sell on your own? Not that I don’t like selling with you, but you’s plenty good. You ain’t even the new kid, anymore.”

Elmer shrugged. “Just like the company, I guess.”

It was hard to lie to Jojo. It was getting increasingly hard to lie to any of the guys, but she was in too deep. Not to mention, somebody was more likely to slip up, if everyone knew. Maybe she was being paranoid, but that was better than being sold like cattle.

Jojo shrugged, smiling easily. “Me, too.”

* * *

As the days careened towards midsummer, Elmer was becoming increasingly appreciative of Medda’s theatre as a place to escape from the sun. Unfortunately, as the days went on, she also found herself increasingly jealous of the women who worked there.

As much as Elmer loved being a newsie, wearing pants and playing rough and not having to be on her best behavior all the time, the women at the theatre, with their beautiful costumes with their delicately styled hair and makeup, served as a cruel reminder of what she had lost. She was supposed to be a girl on the cusp of becoming a woman. She  _ wanted _ that. As it was, the closest she could get to being a woman was stolen moments with Race on evenings when they managed to sneak away.

To add insult to injury, the women of Irving Hall thought Elmer was ‘just the cutest little gentleman’ and treated her as such.

“Are you gonna stay to watch the show tonight, Elmer?” one of the girls, Ruth, asked her.

“Nah, I gotta get back to the lodge. ‘M dead on my feet,” Elmer replied.

“Awww.” Ruth pouted. “You sure? Medda’s singin’ tonight.”

Elmer giggled. “Medda sings every night.”

Ruth flashed her a dazzling smile. “That don’t make it any less special, silly!”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Elmer said. “It was a hot one, today.”

“Y’know, Elmer,” Ruth said, going back to fussing with her costume, “you spend enough time here with us, and I bet we’ll get you up on that stage yourself one of these days.”

“Oh, what would I do?” Elmer asked. “I’m not talented.”

“I bet you could be!”

“You’s all girls, though!”

“What’s that matter?” Ruth protested.

“So, feature me all dressed up as a ‘Bowery Beauty’, prancing around.”

Elmer actually was featuring it, but she couldn’t very well admit that.

Ruth giggled. “Oh but you’d make such a cute girl!”

Elmer couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “You really think so?”

“Oh sure!” Ruth answered, laughing.

Elmer beamed. She knew she made a cute little boy, but she’d always been a little insecure about her looks as a girl. She was always ‘average’ and ‘plain’. Even the man who had tried to buy her called her ‘sorta pretty’.

“You’re a little smaller than me,” Ruth was going on, “but I bet you could fit in one of my old costumes!”

“Oh...no.” Elmer shook her head quickly. “I couldn’t do that.” Putting on a costume meant changing in front of someone.

“Oh, no no, honey,” Ruth amended quickly, reaching out to put a hand on Elmer’s arm in reassurance, “I just meant for a laugh. I don’t mean like you’re a fairy or anything.”

Well, yikes, but Elmer was more than happy to take the out. “The other guys would make fun of me.”

“I know.” Ruth pouted. “Boys dressing’ up in girls clothes ain’t a respectable thing to do.” She smiled a conspiratorial smile then. “But this is the theater! We do things that ain’t respectable all the time.”

Elmer grinned. “Like what?”

Ruth giggled. “Are you blind, just look at me!” She turned, striking a few poses to show off her costume and make Elmer laugh. “Usually I make fellas pay to see this,” she teased with a smile, grabbing her overskirt from where it lay on a nearby chair and stepping into it, “but I suppose, since you’re watching me put my over things  _ on _ instead of take them off, I can let it slide.”

“I don’t got no money for ya, anyway,” Elmer told her. “I gots ta’ pay to sleep in the lodgin’ house, an’ I’s savin’ what I gots left.”

“Ooh, savin’ for something special?”

“I’s savin’ to go somewhere,” she confessed. “I dunno where, though.”

Ruth nodded, moving on from fastening her skirt to her shirt. “Everyone’s got a promised land. Would you help me with the buttons?”

Elmer hopped off the little stool she’d been sitting on and came around to help Ruth. Standing right next to each other, it was clear that Ruth and Elmer were about the same height, and it made Elmer wonder just how she managed to pull off her disguise so easily. Did everyone think she was just a very tall, lanky thirteen-year-old boy? Did she have a very boyish face?

“Thanks, Elmer. You’re a real sweetheart,” Ruth said. She offered her arm. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to the stage before you have to go?”

Elmer nodded and took her arm. “Of course, Miss.”

Just then, Medda, who had been standing nearby, talking with the stage manager, pointed up towards one of the catwalks and called. “Hey, you up there, shoo! No kids allowed in the theater!”

“Not even me, Miss Medda?” came Jack’s voice.

Elmer shook her head fondly. “She says ‘no kids’, but she sure does let a lot of kids in.”

“Only you and Jack,” Ruth chuckled. But then two other boys—the new kids from circulation that morning—followed quickly after Jack as he ran across the floor to hug Medda. “And apparently them, too.” Ruth laughed.

Elmer recognized them and smiled. “Does Jack bring a lot of strays here?”

“Not many,” Ruth replied. “You were the first, at least that I know about.”

“I guess we’re just his favorites.”

“I know you’re  _ our _ favorite,” Ruth cooed, shifting to bump Elmer with her shoulder.

Elmer grinned, scrunching up her nose a little in delight.

Of course, she had meant it as a joke, but Jack had certainly taken an immediate shine to these new kids like Elmer had never seen. The plucky little kid was easy enough to like, but it was clear that it was the older brother who had really captured Jack’s attention. In some way, Jack admired him; Elmer could see it in his face. In what way, she didn’t know. He seemed normal enough. Granted, there’s no telling what lies under the surface of people. Just look at her, for example; a normal newsboy by all appearances, but appearances were as far as that went.

“Well,” Ruth said, snapping Elmer out of her thoughts, “I should go get ready for my act, and I suppose you should be getting home.” She ruffled Elmer’s hair. “You’ll be back soon, I’m sure?”

Elmer nodded eagerly. “Of course.”

“Okay,” she smiled, “see you soon Elmer.”

There was a little tug in Elmer’s gut, a little voice in her head that wanted to correct Ruth.  _ It’s Eleanor _ , she wanted to say.  _ I’m a girl, and I don’t want to hide anymore _ . As quickly as it came, though, the urge was gone. Elmer had too much to lose. She had gone and gotten herself well and truly torn between two versions of herself. “See you soon, Ruth,” she said, and she headed for the door.


	12. The World Will Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 56% canon, 19% Edwardian teenagers making out, 100% bad decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After fighting this thing tooth and nail for months, we banged it out in a few hours this afternoon. You’d think it would actually be easier to write a part of a story that’s already been written for you, but no. It’s harder. So much harder.

_ July 19th, 1899. _

Elmer wasn’t sure what possessed her to go to The Journal’s circulation office with Specs, Sniper, and Smalls instead of The World’s. It was, by all accounts, a normal morning. Maybe that was the problem, though; she had fallen into a routine, and with routine came boredom. Maybe she was instinctively seeking out a change of pace, a change of scenery, a little excitement.

Unfortunately, she got exactly that.

“Sixty cents per hundred!” Smalls exclaimed indignantly.

“Oh, not good,” Sniper said. “That is  _ not good _ . My father’s gonna kill me.”

Elmer, for her part, let out a string of  _ very _ unbecoming curses her mother would have slapped her for.

Specs placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, we gotta get back to The World. Jack’ll know what to do.”

She nodded, swallowing the splash of nausea that threatened to rise in her throat as they took off in a jog. She was barely making rent at the lodging house as it was, and she was supposed to be saving money, not losing it. An extra ten cents per hundred newspapers could be the difference between escaping and...well, pretending to be a boy for the foreseeable future. She wouldn’t entertain the option of getting caught. She couldn’t.

They arrived back at The World’s circulation office just in time to hear Jack arguing with Weisel. “You bet,” he was saying. “The fellas and I’ll take a hike over to the journal.”

“I’ll save you the walk,” Specs said. “They upped their price, too.”

Elmer watched as something like fear flashed through Jack’s eyes before his face hardened again in anger. “Well, then we’ll take our business to The Sun!”

“Same all around town,” Weisel said, halting the small exodus of newsies from the gates. He smiled smugly. “New day, new price.”

“He— _ hey! _ Why the jack up?” Jack was storming back up to Weisel, and thank God someone was able to, because Elmer felt like she was glued to the spot. She was well and royally screwed.

“For them kinda answers, you gotta ask further up the food chain,” Weisel told him. “So, you buyin’ or movin’ on?”

It was complete chaos, after that.

“They can’t just do that, can they?”

“And why not? It’s their paper.”

“It’s their world.”

“Ain’t we got no rights?”

“We got the right to starve! Let’s just get our papes and hit the streets while we still can!”

“At that price!?”

“We ain’t got a chance!”

“Ey!” Jack’s loud voice cut through the din. “No one’s payin’ no new nothin’.”

“You got an idea?”

“Would you keep your shirt on? Let me think this through!”

“I  _ have _ my  _ shirt _ on!”

“ _ Stop crowding him!!! _ ” the younger of the new kids, Les, screamed bloody murder, shoving the other newsies away from Jack. Elmer stumbled back, out of his small but fiery warpath, taking Jojo with her. “Let the man work it out!”

Elmer took a breath. If anyone could work it out, it would be Jack, right? Jack was the leader. He was like the big brother to the rest of them, Elmer included. This, though, this sure seemed like it was out of their hands.

“Hey, Jack,” Les asked, “you still thinking’?”

Race scoffed. “Sure he is—can’t ya smell smoke?”

Elmer normally would have laughed at something like that, coming from Race (everything was funnier when Albert or Race said it), but today, she failed to see the humor in it.

Then, Jack called everyone over. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “If we don’t sell papes, nobody sells papes. Nobody gets to that window, till they put that price back where it belongs!”

The older new kid, Davey, piped up. “Wh— You mean like a strike?”

Immediately, Jack’s face lit up. “Hey, you heard Davey; we’re on strike!”

* * *

Supposedly, according to Davey, they launched their strike in a most auspicious manner. Elmer didn’t know what ‘auspicious’ meant, but she was willing to believe Davey was right.

“So, what’s next?” Jack called, standing up on the table.

“Now you have to spread the word,” Davey went on, “let the rest of the city’s newsies know about the strike.”

“Ey, you heard the man,” Jack said, “let’s split up, let’s spread the word.”

The other boys perked up, volunteering to take different parts of the city — Harlem, Midtown, the Bronx, the Bowery —Race was headed to Midtown, and Elmer was tempted to follow him. On the other hand, she had planned on selling with Jojo, and he was headed to the Bowery, and she could stop at Medda’s on the way back.

“Uhh, Specs, you take Queens,” Jack instructed. “Tommy Boy.”

“Ey.”

“Take the Eastside. And who wants Brooklyn?”

Every single one of them, Elmer included, looked down and away, avoiding Jack’s eye. Elmer had only met a precious few Brooklyn newsies, back when she was selling at Sheepshead with Race. None of them had been too thrilled to have Manhattan boys on their turf, even though Race apparently had a deal with their leader.

“Oh come on.  _ Brooklyn _ ,” Jack scoffed. “Spot Conlon’s toyf.”

Not a one of them —not even Race—looked up.

“ _ Finch _ ,” Jack said, almost sharply, and the gangly boy, who had been determinedly fascinated with the inside of his own elbow, looked over.

“You tellin’ me you scared a’ Brooklyn?” Jack went on, 

Finch stood up. “I ain’t scared a’ no  _ toyf _ .” He looked around before continuing. “But that Spot Conlon gets me a little...jittery.” 

“Aaow,” Jack scoffed, “me an’ Davey will take Brooklyn.”

“ _ Me? _ No!” Davey protested, and just as he and Jack started to argue between them, an unfamiliar voice piped up from the doorway.

“Why is everyone so scared of Brooklyn?"

Elmer turned, shocked to see another girl among their ranks all of a sudden, right next to her. She whipped her hat off, as she saw some of the other boys do. The girl was pretty and well dressed, obviously wealthier than Eleanor ever had been, and all the boys stopped and stared—some more  _ intently _ than others.

“What are you doin’ here?” Jack asked, smiling.

Race slowly pulled his hat off his head—leaving his curls an absolute mess—staring at this new presence in what could only be described as awe. She was standing between him and Elmer, and Elmer tried to catch his eye while pretending to look at the girl, but he was fucking transfixed, like he’d never seen a girl before. Jojo grinned at him, then turned to smack at Albert, who was seated on the table behind them.

“Asking a question,” the girl replied. “Have you got an answer?”

Jack huffed, amused, and stepped down off the table—at least, it sounded like it. Elmer was still watching Race. “Brooklyn is the sixth largest city in the entire world,” he explained. “You got Brooklyn, you hit the motherload.”

Race was flat staring at the girl’s ass. He was staring at her ass, fidgeting with his hair, and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. Hell, he smacked at Jojo to draw his attention, then gestured at the girl and grinned. Albert wasn’t doing much better. Elmer had to look away to keep from scowling.

“Say,” Jack went on, “for someone who works for the New York Sun, you’re spendin’ an awful lot of time hangin’ around at the World.”

Elmer grinned at him, wiggling her eyebrows slightly, trying to ignore the gnawing jealousy in her gut. She was a girl. She was a  _ girl _ , and none of the guys ever treated her like this—not even fucking Race.

“So what’s that about, ‘uh?” Jack asked with a grin, then suddenly dropped his voice an octave or two as he asked, “Are you followin’ me?” All the boys giggled and ‘ooh’ed in mock concern, as he ducked down to hide behind Davey.

“No,” the girl scoffed in amusement, “the only thing I’m  _ following _ is a story.” It was lucky her back was turned, as at this point Race had probably looked at her ass three times in the last ten seconds. “A ragtag gang of ragamuffins wants to take on the king makers of New York.” She circled halfway around the table, and Race nearly tipped out of his seat, leaning as he was to keep her ass in view. “D’you think you have a chance?” she asked, gesturing to the boys around the table and smiling a glowing smile at Tommy Boy, who looked nearly as starstruck as Race did.

“Oh, shouldn’t you be at the ballet?” Jack mocked, walking closer.

“Is the question too difficult? I’ll rephrase,” the girl shot right back, moving back towards Jack, and when Race’s gaze turned back to her from Jack, his cigar nearly fell out of his stupid, slack-jawed mouth. She went on, “Will the richest and most powerful men in New York give the time of day to a gang of kids who haven’t got a nickel to their name?” As she spoke, she crossed the room, and the boys all turned to keep watching her, like their gaze was drawn by a magnet. The only ones who seemed unaffected were Davey, still looking at Jack, and Crutchie, who had stood up to meet her.

“Hey,” Crutchie almost snapped, “you don’t gotta be  _ insultin’ _ .” The girl looked at him, and she almost looked sorry, but he went on, “I got a nickel.”

She let out a short huff of laughter. “So, I guess you’d say you’re a couple of Davids looking to take on Goliath…”

“We never said that,” David pointed out, standing as well, and the girl looked over at him with a cheeky smile.

“Well, you didn’t have to. I did.”

“You know,” Jack said, leaning against the table in front of Elmer, right next to Mush, “I seen a lotta papes in my day, and I ain’t never noted no girl reporters writin’ the hard news.”

Mush nodded, tapping Jack’s chest to indicate he hadn’t either, and the other boys murmured in agreement.

“Yeah, well, wake up to the new century,” the girl retorted, crossing back to Jack. “The game’s changing.”

_ If only. _

Race, still staring at her like she’d strung the stars across the sky, chuckled.

“Now,” she continued, turning to address the room at large, “how about an exclusive interview?”

“Ain’t your beat entertainment?” Jack asked, and she turned to face him again.

“This is entertaining. So far.”

“‘Ey, what’s the last news story you wrote?”

“What’s the last strike you organized?”

Elmer had to admit, she liked this girl. She really wished she could  _ be _ this girl.

The boys chuckled and ‘oh ho ho’ed. “You’re outta your league, Kelly,” Romeo said, appearing practically out of nowhere to stand next to the girl. “Methinks the lady needs to be handled by a—” He pounded his chest twice, open-palmed, and messed with his hat, “—real man.”

“Uhh, youthinks wrong, Romeo,” she answered.

Romeo gasped lightly, quickly moving to Jack and smacking his arm. “How’d she know my name?”

“Gitoutta here!” Jack scoffed, smacking the back of Romeo’s head and shoving him away, and Elmer rolled her eyes.

“I say we save any exclusive,” Davey said, moving over to her again, “for a real reporter.”

A couple of the boys made noises of agreement, but they were cut off by the girl asking indignantly, “Well, do you see somebody else giving you the time of day!?” None of them answered, and she looked suddenly defeated. She exhaled. “Alright. So, I’m just busting out of the social pages, but…” Davey was unflinching, so she turned to Jack again. “But you give me the exclusive, let me run with the story, and I promise, I’ll get you the space.”

“Hey, you really think we could be in the papes?” Crutchie asked, stepping forward next to Davey.

“Well, shut down a paper like The World?” the girl answered. “You’re gonna make the front page.”

All the boys, Elmer most definitely included, sat up a little straighter, murmuring in a mixture of awe, disbelief, hope, and Davey took Crutchie’s hand because they’re cute as fuck.

Elmer turned to Albert. “Is she serious?” she whispered excitedly.

“Do you think we really could!?” Albert replied in kind. The enthusiasm was uncharacteristic for him.

“You want a story,” Jack said to the girl, “be at the circulation gate tomorrow mornin’, and you’ll get one. Oh, and bring yer camera, you’re gonna wanna snap a  _ picture a’ this! _ ”

* * *

“El! Hey, Elmer!”

Elmer gritted her teeth and walked a little faster as Race called after her. She didn’t want to talk to him. He could go talk to the reporter girl with the  _ great ass _ .

“Ellie!” Race called again, catching up with her. “Slow down, will ya’!?”

“No,” Elmer grumbled.

Race sputtered uselessly, dodging another pedestrian on the sidewalk. “Where you goin’ so fast?” he whined.

Elmer turned on a dime and cut into an alley, hoping Race would get the hint, head on to Midtown, and let her return to the lodging house in a peaceful huff, but of course he didn’t and followed her instead. With fewer obstacles to dodge, he caught up with her properly and caught ahold of her wrist to slow her down. She tried to pull her wrist out of his grip, but he didn’t let her.

“Jesus, would you slow down!?” he complained loudly.

“Let go,” she grumbled. “I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“What d’I do??” he demanded—could a whine be outraged?

“The way you looked at that girl!” Elmer said, trying again to wrench her wrist out of his grasp. “Don’t you have  _ any _ shame!?”

This time he let her pull away, having the audacity to look shocked. “What?”

Elmer huffed. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you staring at her? What—do you think she’s prettier than me?” It was petty, but the thought had certainly crossed her mind.  _ She _ thought the reporter girl was prettier than her.

Race sputtered. “What? No! She was just...” He trailed off, gesturing uselessly back the way they came.

That only made Elmer more upset. She was that? Rich? Smart?  _ Better? _ Elmer tried to walk away again, but Race grabbed her wrist again and yanked her back around to face him.

“Would you stop tryin’ to walk away from me!?”

“What do you care?” Elmer raised her chin defiantly. “You’ve got your eye on someone else.”

“I ain’t got my eye on no one!” he shot back. “What—I can’t look at a girl!? ‘S not every day we gets a new pretty face around—”

“Oh, yeah, you were real interested in her  _ face _ .” Elmer jerked her wrist away again.

“So what did you want me to do?” Race demanded.

“Not—just— _ stare _ at her backside like a  _ dog _ looks at a piece of meat!” Elmer exclaimed. “I want you to look at  _ me _ , Race!”

“You think I don’t want to!?” he snapped furiously. “You think I don’t wanna spend all day lookin’ at you an’—fuckin’— _ touchin’ _ you!?” He grabbed ahold of both of her wrists this time. “But I can’t, can I!?”

“That’s not  _ fair _ !” she snapped back. “It’s not my fault!”

“It ain’t mine, neither!” he retorted. “So whaddayou want me to do about it? Jesus  _ Christ _ , Ellie, just tell me what you  _ want _ , ‘stead a’ gettin’ mad an’ stormin’ off when I ain’t—”

She interrupted. “Stop making this my fault! What if  _ I _ started making eyes at strangers in front of you, huh? Maybe I should do that! Maybe I should wear a pretty skirt that makes my ass look nice and show it off to all a’ New York!

“So do it!” he all but shouted. “What you wear and who you look at ain’t none a my concern! See what I care!” Though if his rising volume and tightening grip on her wrists were anything to go by, he would care quite a lot.

“Maybe I will,” she said.

Race sputtered for a moment, angry and useless. Then, he let go of her wrists, moving his hands up to grab the sides of her shoulders instead, and yanked her closer, ducking down a bit to slam his mouth into hers in a furious kiss.

She fisted her hands in the sides of his vest, instinctively reciprocating before remembering that she was angry and pulling back. “Racer—”

But he pushed forward to kiss her again, a little more calculated, but just as insistent. She whined, already losing her resolve, and relaxed a little, flattening her hands against his sides. He stepped forward, pushing her back with him until her back ran into the brick wall of the alley.

She turned her head away, and Race whined at the sudden removal of her mouth. “Ellieee.”

“Racerrr, someone could s—”

“I don’t care,” he retorted, moving one of his hands up to push her face back towards his, and he kissed her again.

She exhaled shakily as heat pulsed low in her stomach, and her fingers moved, seemingly of their own accord—at least, that’s what she would claim—to the buttons on Race’s shirt.

Race tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He moved the hand that was still on her shoulder, trailing it down, slowly, over her side to grip her hip instead. Her hands were shaking slightly as she quickly managed to undo his shirt buttons, and she reached inside, wrapping her arms around his middle and holding on to the back of his thin undershirt. He abandoned her lips then, ducking down to place a hard kiss on the side of her neck, just below the hinge of her jaw. He breath stuttered, and she dropped her head back against the wall, as he trailed harsh kisses down the length of her neck towards her shoulder, moving a hand to tug aside the collar of her shirt before latching onto her collarbone.

“Anthony,” she murmured mindlessly as her eyes fluttered shut.

Race groaned, and the sound vibrated against her skin. She moved one of her hands to the back of his head and buried her fingers in his hair. He groaned again, seeming to take her touch as encouragement, and pushed one of his legs between hers as he started to mouth his way back up her neck again. She snuck her hand that was still on his back beneath his undershirt and flattened it against his spine, pressing him closer against her. He obliged willingly, resting a forearm on the bricks above her head, and tilting his face up to capture her lips again as he pressed nearer. His fingers dug into her hip a bit as he gripped tighter, and slipped his tongue between her lips.

After a moment, his hand moved up from her hip to slip under the hem of her shirt, brushing over her skin as he traced his fingers along the waist of her pants. She shivered at the gentle touch and pressed into it.

He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to murmur, “I want you, Ellie,” and she marveled that he managed to still sound at least a little pissed off.

“Okay,” she breathed, because she wasn’t thinking entirely clearly and couldn’t come up with anything else.

Race pulled back a little more then, putting some space between them so he could quickly go about unfastening her pants. She used the moment to catch her breath.

Elmer didn’t know how many times they had done this, since the first time in Race’s hideout. She hadn’t counted. Sometimes, when she was alone with her thoughts, she wondered if her mother was watching her from Heaven, if she was disappointed in her. It was hard to bring herself to care very much, when Race was with her.


	13. Seize the Day, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strike begins.

_ July 20th, 1899. _

Overnight, the overall mood in the lodging house shifted from righteously indignant to nervously subdued as the reality of what  _ strike _ meant settled in. Strike meant no work, and no work meant no money for however long the strike lasted, and no one had any idea how long that would be.

Elmer didn’t get much sleep, and judging by the constant sound of restless shuffling around the lodging house, no one else did, either. In the morning, instead of a flock of newsboys taking to the streets, boys trickled out in small groups, ambivalent to the approaching workday.

“Do you think we’re gonna win?” Elmer quietly asked Jojo, sick to her stomach and antsier by the moment as the morning bell came closer and closer to ringing.

“I dunno,” Jojo admitted. “I think we got a chance, if the other boroughs stand with us.”

“Do you think they will?”

He nodded. “Sure they will. We’re right; they can’t just raise the price, and it’s the same all over town; they’s just as hurt by the jack up as us.”

Elmer nodded as well, feeling somewhat better. Jojo’s optimism was, as always infectious. They were going to do this—they would strike, and they would win.

It seemed they weren’t the only ones in increasingly high spirits, as Crutchie came limping over with a large, rough piece of cloth in his hand. “Mornin’ fellas,” he greeted Elmer and Jojo cheerfully.

“Mornin’, Crutchie,” Jojo replied happily. “Whatcha got there?”

“I’m making’ a sign, so’s the other boys know where we’s at.” He unfurled the fabric, which had five big letters written down it.

_ S _

_ T _

_ R _

_ I _

_ K _

“I never did too good with spellin’,” he admitted, “so I’s askin’ around—d’you think there should be an ‘e’ on the end?”

Jojo looked to Elmer, and she nodded. “I think there’s an ‘e’ on the end.”

Crutchie nodded, as well. “Buttons said so, too, but I wanted to get a few other opinions first.”

“Where’s Race?” Jojo asked, looking around for him. “Did he already go? He used to go to school.”

“He went ahead with Jack an’ Davey to scope out the circulation gate,” Crutchie affirmed.

“We should go, too, soon,” Elmer said, and it had nothing at all to do with wanting to follow Race before that pretty reporter arrived.

Crutchie nodded. “Hang on, lemme add the ‘e’.” He grabbed Elmer’s hand and used her for stability as he sat down on the floor—all the Newsies were well used to becoming a human crutch at a moment’s notice—then he smoothed the fabric out and set about scratching on an ‘e’ with a piece of charcoal. “I’ll just be a second,” he said, poking the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he finished his sign.

Jojo turned back to Elmer. “You ready?” he asked, and though he was still smiling, there was an edge of nervousness in his voice.

Elmer nodded. “Ready.” 

* * *

Racetrack Higgins was not, never had been, and never would be one to back down from a fight.

For a while, it almost looked like there wouldn’t even be a fight to back down from. Weisel and the Delanceys, far outnumbered, put up surprisingly little resistance, and soon the ground around the newsies’ feet was littered with crumpled and torn paper. It seemed, for a glorious minute, that they had won this battle and were well on their way to winning the war.

Then, Weisel and the Delanceys returned with reinforcements.

“Newsies,  _ get ‘em!!! _ ” Jack shouted, and the group behind him erupted into shouts.

All of a sudden the air was full of flying bundles of papes as the newsies launched the only weapons they had at Weisel and his goons. Race threw the bundle he had in his hands right at Weisel, but the man knocked the papers away with the bat he had. Bats, sticks, bricks—Jesus, these guys had come for a  _ fight _ .

Weisel’s eyes locked on Race then, and Race hesitated just for a second before bolting towards the thicker part of his group of friends as Jack and Davey pushed the paper cart into motion, driving it further between the newsies and the others, forming a sort of barricade. Weisel charged after Race, ducking through the other newsies and grabbed Race by the arm. Race whirled towards him, getting a grip of his own to counter, and the two of them struggled for a moment. Weisel was the bigger man, and he shoved Race off balance before cracking a fist across his jaw. Race’s vision shot white with the sudden burst of pain, and he went down.

Whether it was instinct, miracle, or just dumb luck, he hadn’t lost his cigar yet.

Weisel drove a sharp kick into Race’s ribs, and then he was on to other quarry, leaving Race a moment to breathe. Race shook his head to clear it and wiped his nose—no blood yet—before getting to his feet. He looked around and saw one of the other boys Weisel had brought with him going after Buttons, so Race stepped in his way and quickly drove a short punch into the boy’s ribs. The boy exhaled roughly, staggering back a step, and swung his fist at Race’s head. Race ducked beneath the blow and kicked, cracking the edge of his foot sharply against the side of the boy’s knee. The boy cried out, though whether it was in pain or in anger, Race couldn’t rightly tell. Before Race had the chance to get another shot in, the other—considerably larger—boy grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him bodily away from him. Race’s trajectory very nearly landed him in the barrel Les had been stashed in, but luckily he missed it by a few inches. He landed hard on the ground and rolled for a moment before he got his barings, and scrambled to his feet again. He headed back for Buttons, but Buttons had bolted while the larger boy was busy with Race, and now neither of them were anywhere to be seen among the throng of fighting boys and flying papes. Race picked another target at random and threw a punch, slamming his fist into the boy’s face. The air felt hot and thick, and everything was happening so quickly. The boy staggered, and before he could re-engage with Race, another newsie, Mush, came flying out of nowhere to attack.

Race spun around, taking quick stock of his friends. There was Mush, Jack, Davey...Albert was nowhere to be seen, but Race wasn’t too worried about him; he could hold his own in a fight, probably knock someone out by flexing his tricep into their skull. More concerningly, Elmer was nowhere to be seen. “Ellie!?” Race called out, but his voice was lost to the chaos.

Before he had a chance to get properly worried about her, he got distracted; Oscar was making a run for Crutchie. With a howl, Race threw himself at Oscar, ricocheting off his shoulder, but providing distraction nonetheless. With Oscar off balance, Race took a moment to plant himself solidly in front of him and took a swing at the side of his head. Oscar jerked backwards, so although Race’s punch hit, it was only glancing. Race wound up for another blow, but before he could let fly, Oscar socked him in the stomach, and Race’s breath was knocked roughly out of him. He took a ragged breath and launched a quick set of short punches into Oscar’s ribs.

Suddenly, a shrieking whistle pierced the air, and everyone looked around, startled. Someone must’ve told the bulls there was a fight going on in the circulation yard, because here they were.

“It’s about time you showed up!” Romeo cried in desperate relief, running up to the officer with the whistle. “They’re slaughtering us!”

He barely had time to finish his sentence before the officer cracked the back of his hand across Romeo’s face, and the small boy spiraled to the ground with a shout of pain. Then it was all chaos again, though now it was worse than before. 

* * *

Elmer had never been in a fight. A scuffle or two since joining the newsies, sure, but nothing like this.

She watched from behind a nearby trash can, where Albert had shoved her and told her to stay almost as soon as the fighting had begun, as grown men went after mere boys— _ her _ boys, nonetheless—and it took everything in her not to throw herself into the middle. She wouldn’t be any help, and she knew it.

Then, she watched Romeo go down, and before she knew what she was doing, her feet were under her, flying across the pavement. “ _ Romeo!!! _ ”

She barely made it three steps before one of Weisel’s men got in her way. She skidded into him, letting out a cry of surprise, and she tried to dodge. The man grabbed her arm, yanking her nearly off her feet as he stopped her, and cocked his other fist back. Panicked, she kicked out with her feet. She managed to clip his shin with her heel, but it was a weak hit. Unaffected, the man struck her soundly in the temple.

Her vision went blurry for a moment, and she nearly fell back, but the man caught her by the front of her shirt. She threw a punch at the man’s face, and was surprised when it actually landed. Even more surprised when his head snapped back in response, and he swore loudly. She pulled her knee up and kicked again, this time landing near his groin. The man cried out and swung his fist—the one not balled in the collar of her shirt—at her head again. She tried to duck out of the way, but his hold on her shirt stopped her from going far—that is, until the blow connected with the side of her head and knocked her entirely off her feet. With the sudden addition of her full weight, part of her shirt ripped, and the man lost his hold as she tumbled to the ground.

She immediately climbed gracelessly to her feet, dizzy and unbalanced, and made a desperate dash for where Romeo was just beginning to peel himself off the pavement. “Romeo,” she gasped, falling on her knees next to him.

He looked like hell—cheek red where he had been struck, eyes watering and a little bit glazed over. “I’m okay,” he insisted, though he certainly didn’t look it.

The chaos around them was still in full swing, kids versus cops, and the losers went straight to The Refuge.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Elmer said, standing back up and trying to drag Romeo with her.

The small boy nodded, hanging onto her arm and pulling himself to his feet.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Go,  _ go _ ,” and Romeo went, staggering a little as he started running. Elmer started to follow, but she only made it five or six steps before she felt someone grab the back of her shirt, tearing the fabric further as it jerked her to a painful halt.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” a familiar voice snarled.

Elmer twisted around, trying to escape his grip, but this only served to shred her already ruined shirt even more, and the sudden give sent her falling on her ass. Oscar moved like he was going to grab her or kick her or something, but then he stopped and  _ really _ looked at her. She scrambled backwards, eyes widening in horror as Oscar leered at her.

“Well well well well  _ well _ ,” he said, “would’ja look at that?”

Elmer’s back hit the fence beside the gate, and she whimpered. A second later, Morris approached, most likely to say something to Oscar, but Oscar directed his attention to Elmer instead. Elmer didn’t wait around to hear what Morris would say, instead scrambling to her feet and out the gate. The brothers gave chase.

* * *

Once he’d deposited Elmer (hopefully) out of harm’s way, Albert felt a bit better. It wasn’t that he thought ‘Mer couldn’t take care of himself, it was...well, no, that’s exactly what he thought. Elmer hadn’t grown up on the streets, like most of the other newsies. He was still pretty new and still pretty soft. He could barely hold his own against the other newsies, let alone a pack of full-grown goons.

Albert went to help Race—fuckin’ idiot had already got himself dropped by Weisel—but before he even made it halfway towards him, one of Weisel’s goons got in his way, swinging a wild roundhouse punch at his head. Albert ducked, shifting sideways under it, and shot a solid short punch into the guy’s ribs before grabbing him by the back of his shirt, and jerking him forward as he drove his knee up into his stomach. The other boy let out a satisfying  _ ‘oof’ _ as all the wind was knocked out of him, and Albert shoved him away roughly. He started towards Race again, but whatthefuck, where did the little idiot go!? Albert looked around, trying to spot the blond imbecile through the chaos, but his eyes landed on some goon in a striped shirt instead. He had Jojo, who already looked pretty battered, by the front of his shirt, and was hoisting him up onto a stack of papes. Albert started over as the guy hit Jojo again, but before he could make it, Jack tackled the guy, and Jojo wriggled away. Then there was a shout from Davey as Weisel went after him with a bat, and Jack got distracted, so Albert went on to stop the striped goon from going after Jojo.

“Hey!” Albert shouted, and the goon turned towards him, just in time for his face to meet Albert’s fist.

He reeled away, but Albert went after him—he was gonna make him regret beating on Jojo like that—with a couple quick shots to his kidneys. The guy spun, swinging his arm around in a great arc, and slammed the back of his fist into Albert’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt that bad, but it made Albert stumble, and his adversary took full advantage of it. This guy was a good bit bigger than Albert, but Albert was stubborn enough that this was undaunting, at least until he started advancing on him, swinging rapidly. Albert brought his arms up, shifting and twisting in an effort to catch the punches on his arms instead of his head. Of course, this meant he couldn’t see as well, so he was caught off guard when the goon stepped quickly closer and drove a knee into his stomach. Albert doubled over, exhaling roughly, and the goon slammed both his fists down on Albert’s back, between his shoulder blades, and Albert was knocked to the ground.

Before he could get up again, there was a shrill whistle, and the chaos stopped as everyone looked around. It was the cops, at least half a dozen of them.

“It’s about time you showed up!” Romeo cried in desperate relief, running up to the officer with the whistle. “They’re slaughtering us!”

He barely even finished his sentence when the officer cracked the back of his hand across the small boy’s face, and he spiraled to the ground with a shout of pain. The rest of the newsies cried out in uproarious anger—or maybe fear—and the fighting started again.

It had already been a desperate fight against Weisel and his goons, but now...how were a bunch of kids supposed to take on a pack of full grown, trained men? Albert saw some of the newsies had started to run, and really, he couldn’t blame them, but they had to at least try. Jack, Davey, Mush, some of them were still fighting, and Albert would be damned if he was gonna run.

He scrambled to his feet and charged into the thick of it, launching himself at one of the bulls. He drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, knocking him back a few steps, but Albert kept going and managed to trip the officer over his own feet. Albert hung onto him and went down with him as he fell. In a blur of scrambling legs and flailing fists, Albert climbed on top of the man, sitting on his chest and pinning one of his arms to the ground with his knee. The man swung his still free fist at Albert’s head, and Albert didn’t quite get his arm up in time to block it. A burst of pain exploded across his jaw, and his head snapped to the side, but it wasn’t quite enough to dislodge him. The man swung again, but this time Albert knocked the fist away, and set about pummeling the bull’s face into the ground. He got three or four hits in, but then he felt a set of hands grab him from behind, and he was dragged up off the bull by another one. Albert flailed, trying desperately to wriggle out of the larger man’s grasp. The man let go, and Albert spun to face him. Unfortunately, he spun right into the man’s fist, and was nearly knocked off his feet by the blow. Albert staggered away, half relieved that the bull didn’t give chase, and half terrified for whoever else had caught his attention. Guys were fighting, bleeding, falling, running, wherever he looked, as the scene turned from a fight to a massacre.

Where was Jack? Where was Race? Where was  _ Elmer?  _ Albert rushed back to the corner where he had left his little buddy, hoping no one had spotted him.

“Elmer,” he said thickly. Fuck, his jaw hurt. “Mer, you okay?” He rounded the trash can he had shoved Elmer behind, and to his horror, there was no sign of him. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck, shit.”

He spun around. The yard was beginning to clear out as the last of the bulls gave up on the few remaining newsies, most of whom were on the ground anyway. There was Race, Jojo, Buttons...no sign of Elmer. Hopefully, he’d had a chance to run and wasn’t halfway to The Refuge, by then.

“Race,” Albert said, starting back out into the center of the yard. “Race, have you seen Elmer?”

Race, helping Jojo to his feet, looked up at Albert, his face creased in pain and sudden worry. “What? No.”

Buttons piped up, “Last I saw him runnin’ off. Delanceys were on his tail.”

“Both!?” Albert asked.

“Both.”

Albert pulled his hat off and dragged his fingers through his hair. Elmer didn’t stand a chance against one of the Delancey brothers, let alone both of them at once. “We gotta find him.”

Race nodded, looking at least as horrified as Albert felt, if not more so. “Which way did they go, Buttons?”

“Straight out the gate,” Buttons answered, already starting in that direction. Immediately, the others followed, the four of them setting out to find their missing newsboy.


	14. Seize the Day, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now is the time to ~~seize the day~~ read the content warnings!

_ July 20th, 1899. _

Elmer was almost halfway back to the lodging house, hurting and exhausted. The Delanceys could have caught her at any time, but they hadn’t, and that was horrifying all on its own. They were toying with her, tiring her out, like cats playing with a helpless mouse before killing it. Her breath was coming in sharp, burning gasps, and her legs were beginning to shake. Every time she slowed down, she could hear them laughing behind her.

In a last, desperate attempt to lose them, the rounded a corner and ducked into an alley, hoping to find a place to hide, since running wasn’t going so well. Unfortunately, horribly, about five steps into the alley and five steps too late, she realized the alley was a dead end. She cursed, then tried to go up a fire escape, but she barely made it halfway up the ladder before a hand closed around her ankle. She gasped, looking down over her shoulder to see Morris, Oscar not far behind. Morris laughed cruelly and jerked his arm, causing her to lose her footing, and her hands slipped off the rungs a moment later. She crashed to the ground, and her legs jarred and gave beneath her, dropping her painfully to her hands and knees on the packed gravel.

“Where ya runnin’ off to?” Oscar snickered as he came closer.

Tears began to fill her eyes, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was hurt, scared, exhausted, or a combination of the three. “Leave me alone.”

“Oh, I don’t think we will,” Oscar said, grinning like a shark, “will we, Morris?”

Morris grinned as well, standing too close, resolutely between her and the mouth of the alley.

“See, I think you’s got a secret,” Oscar went on, quirking an eyebrow as he smirked at the bandages around her chest, quite visible with her torn shirt gaping open.

She tried to cover herself with what was left of the fabric, to little effect. “So? So what?”

Morris snickered, and Oscar shot him a quick glance.

“‘Ey, Morris,” Oscar said, fixing his gaze back on Elmer, “why don’t you go stand watch or somethin’? Make sure no one bothers me an’  _ Elmer _ while we talk about her secret.”

Elmer’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No.”

The brothers both laughed, and Oscar crouched down in front of Elmer, bringing their faces closer. “You really think you’re in any spot to be sayin’ ‘no’, sweet face?”

Quick as she could, she shot to her feet and tried to run for the mouth of the alley. She darted around Morris, but it was only a few steps before his hands closed on her arms, just below her shoulders, and yanked her to a halt. She struggled hard, and Morris laughed, tugging her back against his chest, hands gripped like vices on her arms.

“Hey, hey, relax,” he snickered. “You scared we’re gonna hurt’cha?”

“Let me  _ go! _ ”

He laughed again, and Oscar circled around so he was in front of her, grinning. “Aww, don’t be like that,” he said, mock pouting. “We just wanna have some fun with ya, that’s all.”

She kicked at his chest, and her foot landed with a satisfying jolt. Oscar stumbled back half a step, clearly not having expected this. He snarled furiously, stepping back closer and cracked the back of his hand across her face. She barely even had time to register the pain before Morris tossed her roughly to the side, and her head slammed into the brick wall of the alley. Elmer crumpled like a rag doll, just barely getting her hands up to save herself from a face-full of gravel.

Vision blurred, ears ringing, and the taste of blood in the back of her throat.

“Fucking  _ bitch _ ,” Oscar spat, mustering a surprising amount of venom for someone who sounded like he was underwater.

She felt rough hands on her again, grabbing her leg just above her knee and the waistband of her pants, dragging her on her stomach away from the wall. She tried to scream, draw some attention to herself, but all that came out was a weak groan. She couldn’t even tell which one of them it was that grabbed her shoulder and flipped her over onto her back. She tried weakly to shove and kick him off as her vision slowly cleared. He smacked her hands away roughly, and a sudden dull pain took up in her arm as Morris—who she now recognized, kneeling beside her—set a knee heavily on her forearm, pinning it to the gravel beside her head. Oscar, on his knees by her legs, grabbed the waistband of her pants, and dragged her down, closer to him, which wrenched her pinned arm into a painful, stretched sort of position. She cried out in pain and fear, still trying to kick Oscar off.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She had run away and cut her hair and become a newsie to keep this from happening.

As Oscar fought with her legs, Morris reached down and grabbed ahold of the bandages still covering her chest. With a terrible rip, a long strip of the flimsy fabric came loose. She clutched at it with her free hand, trying to keep it from unraveling further, but Morris smacked her hand away roughly and reached for the bandages again, yanking the rest of the fabric away and leaving her exposed.

“Ooh,” he purred, smug and scolding, “that ain’t what’cha expect to see under a newsie’s vest.”

Elmer sobbed, doing her best to cover herself with her arm.

Oscar laughed harshly. “Keep ‘er busy, Morris,” he instructed, finally having knocked her legs aside so he could begin to rip at the fastenings of her pants.

Since Morris was using his knee to keep Elmer’s arm down, he had both his hands free. He grabbed Elmer’s wrist roughly and yanked her arm up, away from her chest. “Y’know,” he said, placing his other hand on the front of her shoulder and beginning to trail downwards—the fact that he did it so softly somehow made it more upsetting—“I always thought you looked too...delicate to be a proper newsie.” He grinned monstrously as his fingertips traced over one of her breasts. “Guess I was right.”

Just then, there was a terrifying pop, and Oscar tore the waist of her pants open, ripping the buttons right off rather than taking the time to fiddle them open. She cried, ripping her arm out of Morris’ grip to shove his other hand away. She tried to turn onto her side in an attempt to dislodge Oscar, but Morris grabbed her shoulder and pushed her onto her back again as Oscar hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants and began to pull.

She sobbed helplessly as Morris—already brought closer by leaning over to pin her shoulder—leaned closer to her face and hissed. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you what happens when little girls get caught in alleyways with two men?” 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach  _ you _ not to be an enormous ass!?”

Elmer sobbed again, this time in an overwhelming combination of relief and shame. She looked over towards the mouth of the alley and saw Albert, who had just come around the corner of the street. He was already running, but a furious streak of blond and blue came flying past him, through the mouth of the alley, and Racetrack Higgins barreled straight into Oscar with an enraged cry, knocking him sideways, away from Elmer.

A second later, Albert was there, swinging both fists together in a huge, upwards arc, to crack into Morris’ face. The blow sent Morris reeling, and he tipped over backwards, off Elmer. In another second, Albert was past her, and she couldn’t see anyone anymore. For a second, she was left just staring at the slit of sky between the buildings above her, breathing heavily, near frozen in shock.

Then, another familiar voice cried out, “Jesus, Mer!” and then Jojo was there, dropping to his knees beside her. He knocked his suspenders off his shoulders, and began unbuttoning his shirt quickly.

“Jo?” she murmured stupidly. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he answered, shrugging out of his shirt.

Buttons had appeared, too, and had gentle hands on Elmer’s shoulders, over the tatters of her ruined shirt, pulling her to sit up. She groaned, sore in ways she never thought possible, but managed to get upright enough for Jojo to set his open shirt over her shoulders. Buttons held the shirt closed over her chest before wrapping his arms tightly around her, and Jojo leapt up to help the others.

Watching over Buttons’ shoulder, Elmer could now see Race, grappling on the ground with Oscar. One minute, one of them was pinned, then the other, all the while fists were flying thick and fast. There was already blood on both of their faces, and Elmer wasn’t sure whose it was.

Jojo, seeming to have decided there was no use trying to join his frenzied compatriot, had rushed past Race, and over to Albert. Morris, being the bigger of the two, seemed to make a formidable opponent for Albert. He landed a solid punch on Albert’s jaw, and Albert’s head cracked roughly back and to the side.

“Hey!” Jojo shouted, catching ahold of Morris’ shoulder, and making use of the leftover momentum from his punch to pull him around towards him, so he could crack his own fist into Morris’ jaw.

(Take a moment, if you will, to imagine being Morris Delancey—locked in combat with Albert DaSilva and his marvelous triceps, but then, here comes Jojo De La Guerra, shirtless, suspenders by his sides, ready to fuck. you. up.)

Morris staggered a step from Jojo’s initial punch, and Jojo followed up quickly with one, two, three quick shots to his ribs, then another crack across his face. Albert was back at it as well, slamming his fists into whatever Jojo didn’t have otherwise covered.

Suddenly, Buttons’ hands landed on Elmer’s face, guiding her to look at him. “Are you okay?” he asked. “What did they do to you?”

She whimpered. “Nothing. They didn’t—...didn’t have time.”

Buttons exhaled, wrapping his arms around her again. “Thank god…”

At a sharp cry of pain from Race, Elmer looked towards the fighting again. Oscar had somehow gotten away from Race long enough to get to his knees, and he had Race pinned on his stomach with his arm twisted behind him at a brutal angle. If Oscar pushed it any further, surely it would break, but just then, avenging angel Jojo De La Guerra came flying at him and slammed his fist into the side of Oscar’s head. Oscar let go of Race’s arm as his head jerked from the impact, and Jojo shoved his shoulder heavily to knock him backwards off-balance as Race scrambled out from beneath him. Oscar staggered to his feet, doing his best to ward off blows from Jojo. He managed to get a punch of his own in, swinging his fist heavily into Jojo’s stomach, and Jojo had the wind knocked out of him.

Race was starting to get to his feet, when Oscar brought his foot heavily down on Race’s back, slamming him back into the ground. As Oscar raised his foot again, Race tried to roll away, but he only just made it onto his side before Oscar landed a solid kick on his stomach, knocking him the rest of the way over onto his back. He barely had a moment to breathe before Oscar drove a sharp kick into his ribs, and Race let out a cry. Elmer winced, stomach churning as she watched his face contort in pain. Later, she would lament that she didn’t do anything—not that she could have done much. In the moment, it didn’t feel quite real.

Jojo was after Oscar again now, doing his best to drive him away from Race. He didn’t have to drive him far before Oscar seemed to decide this wasn’t worth it anymore and started to run. Morris, seeing his brother retreating, managed to break free from Albert, and he ran as well. Jojo started to give chase, but only for a moment, as the other two boys quickly disappeared around the corner of the street. Elmer let out a shaky breath, only kept from falling back onto the concrete by Buttons’ arms still around her.

Race rolled onto his other side—the one Oscar hadn’t kicked—coughing and wincing. Jojo rushed to his side to help him to his feet, as Albert hurried over towards Buttons and Elmer.

“Is he alright!?” Albert asked.

“He’s—...” Buttons faltered, looking back at Elmer, and Elmer curled closer into his chest to hide her own.

“What the fuck were you thinkin’, running off like that!?” Albert shouted, and then Jojo smacked the back of his head, hard.

“Would you stop yellin’!? Everyone was runnin’!”

“They chased me,” Elmer said. “Th—they—”

Albert, sufficiently quelled, came over to her quickly, Jojo hot on his trail, and crouched down to be on level with her and Buttons. “Hey, it’s fine,” he said roughly, frowning. He pulled her out of Buttons’ arms—Buttons’ “Hey, wait,” coming a second too late—and in doing so, knocked Jojo’s shirt from her shoulders.

She quickly covered her chest, looking at the ground instead of at her friends. She heard Albert take a breath like he was going to say something, but there was just silence. Someone put the shirt back over her shoulders, and then, a second later, Race was there.

“Ellie,” he gasped, knocking Albert out of the way and pulling Elmer tightly against his chest. He pressed his face into her hair. “Jesus Christ.”

She closed her eyes and hid her face behind his shoulder. Relief was beginning to fade away; shame was not.

Race tilted his head up then, holding her a little tighter, and snapped at the others, “What the fuck are ya doin’? Quit lookin’ at her!”

There were a few murmurs and shuffles as the others, presumably, did as they were told, and Elmer chanced opening her eyes again. Jojo was still kneeling almost immediately to her right, but he was facing the other way now. Buttons had gotten to his feet, and though his feet were still facing her, she trusted that he wasn’t looking. Albert, on the other hand, was still sitting on the ground where Race had knocked him over, and he was staring—resolutely at her face, but still staring.

Muttering something that Elmer couldn’t quite make out, Race shuffled around so he was between her and Albert, then pulled back a bit to take hold of Jojo’s shirt, still settled loosely around her shoulders.

Albert sputtered angrily. “What the fuck—why are  _ you _ looking!?”

“I’m helping! Fuck off!” Race retorted.

“What the hell, man? Close your eyes!” Jojo joined in.

And soon the three of them were yelling, overlapping so much that Elmer couldn’t quite tell what anyone was saying.

“Stop it!” she shouted, and the boys quickly trailed into silence.

She took hold of the shirt from Race and slowly put her arms into the sleeves, grimacing as the arm Morris had pinned protested the awkward movement. As soon as she had her arms in, Race started buttoning the shirt. Buttons knelt down next to her and reached out to brush his fingers over her forehead. She hissed when he hit a raw spot, and his fingertips came away tinged with red. The boys all had cuts and quickly blossoming bruises of their own.

“Was this from the brawl at circulation, or...?” Buttons asked.

“I don’t think so?” She gestured to the side of the alley. “I got thrown into that wall pretty good.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill those Delancey brothers,” Race hissed.

“They’re lucky they ran when they did,” Albert growled in agreement.

Jojo turned back around then, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay, Mer?”

“I...” She trailed off, unsure. She didn’t seem to have any major injuries, but she certainly didn’t  _ feel _ okay.

“Let’s get her back to the lodging house,” Buttons suggested, and Race and Jojo nodded in agreement.

Carefully, they started to peel her off the ground, but even the slightest movement made her head swim, and no sooner were her feet on the ground than the ground was swaying beneath them, and she stumbled and fell back. Luckily, Jojo was right there to catch her, but there was a hubbub of concern anyway.

“She can’t walk back like this,” Buttons observed.

“I’ll say she can’t,” Race agreed, looking at the torn front of her pants with a quiet fury in his eyes. He reached to move them back up higher on her hips, and although they wouldn’t close, at least they were back where they belonged. She would have thanked him for it, if she didn’t feel like she might throw up the next time she opened her mouth. They carefully lowered her back to the ground, and she whimpered, sounding absolutely pathetic even to her own ears. 

“What are we gonna do?” Jojo asked.

“Move your stupid asses so I can pick her up,” Albert, now on his feet with the others, cut in. He bent down, placed her arm over his shoulder, and wrapped his around her back, and the other under her knees. She let out a tiny, broken grunt of pain as he lifted her.

“I gotcha,” he muttered, so quiet that she barely heard it, and she whimpered again, clutching at his shirt.

“Just hang on; we’ll get’cha home.”

* * *

Get Elmer to the lodging house. That’s what Albert chose to focus on, because nothing else made a whole lot of sense. He could think later about how the strike went to all hell so fast, what the Delanceys had done,  _ why _ they had done it. He could think later about how Elmer was a girl. For now, he had to get Elmer to the lodging house.

Jojo threw the door open, a few steps ahead of Albert, and a flock of anxious and curious newsies flocked around it to see who had returned.

“Move it,” Albert snapped, pushing through them.

“Where were you guys?” Sniper asked.

Tommy Boy piped up. “What happened to Mer?”

Ignoring them, Albert headed for the bunk room, still cradling Elmer in his arms.

Race followed close behind, stopping only to inquire about Jack’s whereabouts and curse sharply when he heard that Jack was nowhere to be found. “Someone get us some bandages, and...water and rags,” he ordered, starting up the stairs just as Albert reached the top.

Albert continued down the hall to the bunk room and kicked open the already-ajar door. Finch and Mush were in the bunk nearest the door, and Finch was just finished wrapping a bandage around Mush’s bicep. Henry was there too, sitting on the floor, slumped back against the wall.

“Whoa, what happened to—?” Finch started to ask, trailing off as he looked at Elmer, still cradled in Albert’s arms.

Albert scowled, and held her a little tighter, hoping none of the boys downstairs had so easily noticed her distinctly not-flattened chest. “I got it handled,” he replied shortly, carrying Elmer over to his bunk and carefully setting her down.

Race crashed into the room a second later. “Get out,” he snapped.

“What?” Finch sputtered, still looking at Elmer, both baffled and concerned.

“What’s going on!?” Henry asked.

“Beat it!” Albert said sharply, and he must have looked almost as murderous as he felt, because the others made a hasty exit.

Race had hurried across the room, and crouched at the side of the bunk now, reaching out to take Elmer’s hand. “You okay?” he asked, but he went on before she had a chance to answer. “We got water and bandages on the way. We’s gonna getcha cleaned up.”

She nodded minutely, then winced, as if even that small motion was somehow jarring. They must have really cracked her head against that wall.

Race grimaced sympathetically, reaching out to smooth her hair off of her forehead, and Albert felt a small twinge in his stomach at the familiarity of the gesture. How long had Race known she was a girl?  _ How _ did Race know she was a girl?

“How’s your head?” Race asked.

“Hurts,” she murmured.

“I can’t fucking believe they tried to—” he went on, muttering fragments of sentences and fidgeting with Elmer’s hand, her hair, his own hair—god only knew where his hat was at this point—Jojo’s shirt. The boy couldn’t keep still. Of course, that had been true as long as Albert had known him, but this was a more frantic, upset sort of fidgeting, like he was still running on adrenaline from all the fighting.

“We’ll getcha taken care of,” Race promised, touching Elmer’s hair again.

Albert pushed his hands into his pockets awkwardly as he stood there. He felt weirdly like he was intruding on some sort of moment between the other two, but at the same time he didn’t want to leave Elmer.

The moment didn’t last long, though, as Race looked up at Albert then. “Can you stay with her? Jack ain’t here, and I’s got a bunch a’ hurt boys downstairs...”

Albert nodded. “Yeah, I got her. Get outta here.”

“Okay.” Race nodded, looking for all the world like he was going to start crying. “Okay...”

He squeezed Elmer’s hand, then sped off, crossing paths in the doorway with Kenny, who came bearing bandages, rags, and a small bowl of water. Albert turned to accept the supplies from Kenny, who had a nasty bruise of his own on his jaw.

“You go take care a’ yourself,” Albert told him, less because he was worried about Kenny and more because he figured Elmer would want some privacy for awhile. “I got this.”

“Okay.” Kenny handed the supplies over, casting a few worried glances in Elmer’s direction, before turning to make his way back out.

“Close the door,” Albert instructed, and Kenny did so.

“We ain’t gonna get a moment’s peace,” Albert muttered, turning to crouch by the side of the bunk, next to Elmer.

He dipped the corner of one of the rags into the bowl of water, then reached up to brush it over the wound on her forehead. She hissed and flinched as the rough cloth passed over her red, raw skin.

Albert grimaced. “Sorry...”

“I’m okay,” she responded, every bit the stubborn little shit he knew, always trying to be tough.

Albert scoffed, “That’s debatable,” he continued his work anyway.

She huffed and pouted. Same stubborn Elmer. Same little buddy. And yet...

The proximity that came with cleaning the blood off her forehead offered Albert a chance to really look at her. She looked exactly the same, but now that he knew she was a girl, he was just shocked he hadn’t noticed before. They had spent so much time together, and there was every sign, right in front of his eyes—her stature, the structure of her face, her voice—and he had written every single one of them off as youth. How old was she, anyway? No way she was really thirteen—not when she looked like  _ that _ underneath her shirt. Did he know  _ anything _ about her? They had spent so much time together—how had he not known? How had she not trusted him...?

“ _ Ow _ ,” she complained, flinching again as he pressed a little too hard against her wound.

“Suck it up,” he retorted, setting the cloth down and grabbing the bandages.

She pouted harder, and Albert rolled his eyes.

“Hold still,” he instructed, scooting a bit closer so he could better reach to wrap the bandage around her head.

She propped herself up on her elbows, groaning as she did so.

“You sure nothin’ else hurts?” Albert asked as he began to wrap the bandages.

She scoffed. “ _ Everything _ hurts.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “Yeah, a’right. Gimme specifics.”

She sighed. “My arm.” She shrugged her shoulder to indicate which one. “Morris put his fat ass on it. And my legs. I fell off a fire escape.”

“I swear to god, I’ll kill ‘em both,” Albert muttered to himself, tying off the bandage carefully, then continued at a normal volume. “Lemme see your arm.”

She laid back down and offered her arm, and he pushed the sleeve of Jojo’s shirt up for examine it. There was a deep purple bruise forming about halfway between her shoulder and elbow. It was scraped up the back, too—not bleeding, but the top layer or two of skin was broken.

“Your legs ain’t broken, is they?” Albert asked, glancing down at the legs in question.

“No,” she answered dryly. “I think I would have noticed.”

He huffed, half amused, and picked up the rag again to clean off the scrape on her arm. “Fair enough.”

She frowned. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, so were you.” He grabbed the roll of bandages again. She probably didn’t  _ need _ a bandage for the little scrape on her arm, but at least this was something he could do to distract himself from all the guilt and confusion and anger bubbling in the back of his head. He should have taken Elmer and run the moment Weisel and his goons showed up. It’s not like he’d done anything particularly heroic in the resulting brawl, and if he had taken Elmer back to the lodging house instead of just stashing her behind a trash can…

“I’m sorry, Mer,” he said roughly, winding the bandage around her arm.

“For what?” she asked.

Albert gestured vaguely with his free hand. “If I’d known...I woulda taken better care of you.”

But he  _ hadn’t _ known. She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t trusted him.

She shrugged evasively. “Not your fault.”

“Yeah, well...” He tied the bandage off. “I guess that’s you all doctored up, then.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He set the supplies on top of her trunk. He figured he should probably get his own cuts and bruises attended to, but...well, he was still reeling.

He took a minute to just look at her, as the idea of Elmer as  _ Elmer _ that had solidified in his head clashed with the Elmer he saw in front of him.

She really  _ was _ a girl, wasn’t she? Wellgoddamnthatwasrealstupid of course she was really a girl. It just kept hitting him that, clearly, he didn’t know his little buddy Elmer at all. That probably wasn’t even her name.

“Hey,” Albert said, a little surprised by how soft his voice was.

She looked at him, brow raised slightly in question.

“What’s your name?”

She blinked a couple times, slowly. “Elmer’s fine.”

Albert’s brow creased with unhappy frustration. “Right. Sure.” He stood up, turning away to lean against the post that held up the top bunk. Why didn’t she want him to know? Did she still not trust him? How? Why? He’d always been there for her, ever since she turned up on their doorstep, trailing behind a nun like a lost puppy. He was the one who took care of her and taught her to sell newspapers. Fuck, how did he not know?

“You’re mad,” Elmer observed in a flat, subdued sort of voice.

“I ain’t mad at shit,”Albert snapped in knee-jerk denial.

“Now, you’re lying.”

Albert scoffed. “Right. Like lyin’s a new thing ‘round here.”

She glared at him. “Oh, fuck off.”

He scoffed angrily again, turning away so his back was against the bedpost, and crossed his arms. It was like he didn’t know her at all. Like she didn’t  _ want _ him to know her. Was  _ everything _ a lie? 

At a small sniffle from Elmer, Albert looked back at her. She was looking away from him now, tension in her shoulders and hands clenched into fists over her stomach.

Albert stifled a groan, and a stone of guilt landed in his stomach. “Ahh fuck, are you cryin’?”

“ _ No _ .” She wiped at her eyes.

He sighed heavily, rolling off the bedpost to face her again. “Sit up.”

She glanced up at him, definitely crying. “What?”

“Sit up,” be repeated, and he made a shooing motion. “Move your ass, make room.”

She did as she was told, brow creased in confusion, and Albert climbed onto the bunk to sit next to her, settling his arm around her shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting manner. He couldn’t imagine how scared and  _ mad _ she must be, with everything that happened, and him being an asshole wasn’t going to help.

She looked at him for a few more moments, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, then shifted her gaze down into her lap.

Albert rubbed the side of her shoulder a little awkwardly. “I’m sorry, okay? I just...wish you’d told me. I’d’a taken better care a’ you.”

She frowned. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

But Race knew.

“It’s that thing with your father, and that other guy, right?”

She nodded.

“Right,” he said tightly, remembering how she’d said her papa tried to use her to pay off his debts. It made more sense now, and Albert liked it even less. He tightened his arm slightly around her, pulling her a bit more against his side. “You’ve had a lotta shit happen to you, huh Mer? Or, I guess, almost happen...”

She nodded again. “Yeah...”

“Well, don’t worry about none a’ that. I gotcha, an’ I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ else happen to you,” he promised.


End file.
